Story of a Lover Boy
by MaxMadness0511
Summary: The Hunger Games from Peeta's Point of View - What is going on in Peeta's head as he and the girl he loves are reaped, marched around as spectacles, and then sent to die? Work in progress.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all, thanks for reading! This is my interpretation of Peeta's story throughout the first book of The Hunger Games trilogy. I like to think I take a different view on Peeta compared to many people, and hopefully you all agree!**

**Read and comment - I'll appreciate any feedback!**

**Chapter One**

I awake with a start, panting slightly, trying to blink the sunlight streaming in through my bedroom window. After a moment, my bedroom comes into clear view and I'm able to lay my head back down, staring blankly at the ceiling. It must be late, I realize, blinking the sleep from my eyes and willing myself to sit up. It's rare that I get to sleep past dawn. My mother would usually bang on my door, shouting that there was work to be done before the bakery downstairs opened for the day. But today, it seems, my father has convinced her to grant me a little bit of mercy, trying to help me put off facing this day as long as possible.

Breathing deeply, I push myself upright and pull on my working clothes. I wander downstairs to where the bakery is already alive, with my two brothers – Jayme and Kane – and father hurrying between the ovens and the counter where customers await. My mother is nowhere to be seen, which I am fairly grateful for. Throwing myself into work with my family, they each pause briefly to clasp me on the shoulder as I walk past. I try to ignore them. I try to shrug them off and act like I'm not scared for what awaits. But of course, all families feel this way today.

There's a strong knock at the door out back, which my father runs to respond to immediately. When he opens the door I see a tall, broad-shouldered boy standing out back carrying a game bag that I'm sure is full of the squirrels my father loves to buy. It's Gale Hawthorne, an older boy from the poorest part of town – the Seam. Though I'm sure he has no clue who I am, I still choose to move away and out of his line of sight as he and my father begin to chat and discuss a trade.

"Good morning Gale," my father says, just a hint of sadness in his voice, "What do you have today?"

"Mr. Mellark," Gale replies, "I have a good batch of squirrels. How many for one full loaf of bread? I have four on me right now."

"Not necessary Gale, just one will be fine today, I think," Gale pauses, as if unsure whether there is a catch to this trade. But I think the sadness and warmness in my father's voice just convinces him of his kind intentions. Today, of all days, we have cause to be kind to each other. My father retrieves one of the warm rolls that my brother just pulled out of the oven and walks over to the door, quickly trading the roll for the squirrel before my mother comes back in.

"Thank you, Mr. Mellark," Gale says.

"Of course, Gale. Good luck today. And make sure you share that," Gale and my father share a quick laugh.

"Thank you, good luck to you too. Don't worry, I will definitely have to share this with at least one person," he states with a laugh. With that, he leaves. My father glances at me, and I see a sad expression in his eyes as he meets mine. I get the feeling we both know exactly who he's sharing his bread with. I allow a sad smile to touch my lips briefly, and then return to work.

Our customers stream in steadily, buying bread, pies, or whatever they can afford for their celebratory feasts this evening, happy that their children have been spared another year. But, of course, for two families, their children will not be returning. They will have been picked at the reaping that will occur this afternoon and will be stepping into an arena to fight to the death against 22 other children from around the other 11 districts of Panem.

The Hunger Games. The annual reminder to all twelve districts of Panem of the rebellion that we had led against the Capitol, more than 74 years ago.

I dwell on the thought of the Games for a while as I work, thinking about past tributes and each year's victor, the bloody fights and many children sacrificed. Before I know it, I'm shaking, and my father grasps my arm and just says simply,

"Go wash up, I'll make you some food."

After I've scrubbed myself head to toe and dressed myself in the nicest pants and shirt that I own, I wander downstairs again to find my father seated with fresh rolls in front of him, still steaming from the oven. My brothers wander around him, still serving the occasional customer, but now mostly just watching me approach the table and take my seat. This year, for the first time, I'm the only one young enough to be in the reaping bowl – they're all over 18 now.

"Don't worry Peeta, you're not going to be reaped. Think about the odds of it," Kane says. I allow myself a small smile, thinking of Effie Trinket, the effervescent District 12 escort whose excited tagline of "may the odds be ever in your favor" will ring out across the town square this afternoon. Jayme claps me on the shoulder and quickly adds,

"Not like you're one of those Seam kids who have their names in a million times. It's so unlikely, you can hardly even be worried." Though this strikes a chord of truth, it does nothing to improve my mood. I glance at my father again, and see that the same sadness has entered his eyes as well. He knows that I'm thinking of at least one Seam resident who we would both be shattered to see go, and who I'm sure has had to get plenty of extra Capitol-issued food for her family, meaning her name could be in that reaping ball countless times. I quickly try to shake the thoughts from my head, though now I'm filled with enough worry for the both of us.

My father shoos my brothers from the room, telling them to go get cleaned up as he begins to move around to shut down the school for the reaping.

"You'd better eat, son, and get ready to go. It's almost one. You have to leave for the square soon," I nod and start in on the fresh rolls my dad set out, my throat getting dryer and dryer with every bite.

At one, I squeeze my way through the already assembling crowd at the town square in front of the old justice building to join the other sixteen year-old boys of District 12, standing amongst several of my friends from school. We stand towards the back with the other merchant kids, giving space to the shaking Seam kids. By two, the square has completely filled with all of the residents of the District, and the ceremony commences. The District 12 mayor and Effie Trinket walk out on stage and take their seats, leaving the third seat – meant for District 12's only living mentor, Haymitch Abernathy – untouched. The mayor gets up and goes through his annual speech about the history of Panem and the war that led to the emergence of the annual Hunger Games.

As Effie gets up to give her annual speech and pull names from the reaping balls that stand ominously on the stage, Haymitch stumbles drunkenly out on stage and there is momentary chaos on stage. It takes a minute, but soon Effie has regained control of the situation and too soon she is beginning to approach the ball containing the District 12 girls' names. I cross my fingers, and steal a glance over at the Seam girl who I pray is not called. Katniss Everdeen, looking beautiful in a simple blue dress and her hair pulled back, is gazing intensely at the stage, I think also praying that her own name is not called.

"Primrose Everdeen!" I hear Effie's voice ring out.

My heart sinks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I whip around and crane my neck to look at my father, who has turned his eyes to the ground, trying not to see what's about to happen. My mother stares up at him, gaging his reaction, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Though what she's disapproving of at this moment, I can only guess. I turn back around and look directly at Katniss, whose face looks horror stuck and she seems to be frozen in place. I then turn slightly and see her tiny twelve year-old sister walking to the stage slowly. As Prim Everdeen walks by the area where the sixteen year-olds are standing, the corner of my eye catches a commotion occurring across the path from me, and I see Katniss emerge from the crowd, screaming.

"Prim! Prim!" Her voice is strangled and terrified. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" She shoves her sister backwards, taking a protective stance in front of her.

_No. She can't._ I think immediately. My heart sinks even deeper in my chest. I grit my teeth, trying not to show any visible reaction, though I'm sure I'm barely hiding my deep sadness. As Prim struggles to hold onto her sister and Effie Trinket tries in vain to regain control to the situation, I see Gale emerge from the crowd and sweep up Prim as she screams. I shake my head and stare at the ground as the commotion continues.

"Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" She sounds so pleased with what's happened, and I wonder if everyone else around me is as angry about the proceedings as I am. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," she states. Her voice is quiet, but strong, matching the strength that she has just shown to our onlooking nation. She barely wavers, despite facing almost certain death. I stare up at her, taking in the contours of her face and body that I have watched walking home every day for the last eleven years. So familiar, but her voice takes me off guard – it occurs to me that it has been a long time since I've heard her speak. I'm devastated to realize I will never get the chance to talk to her. I will never get the chance to tell her just how long I've admired her from afar. Maybe I'll go tell her goodbye. But I haven't worked up the confidence to talk to her yet, so I'm not sure I'll have the strength today.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all of the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" Effie gushes. I frown up at Effie, upset that anyone could think that this moment is about glory for anyone. But it seems that the rest of District 12 echoes my sentiment, as no one makes a move to clap, or even makes a sound.

A moment of courage seizes me. I have to do something to show this girl on stage that someone in this frozen crowd cares. Someone knows that this is not fair. I touch my three middle fingers to my lips and hold my hand in the air in our old district salute. Though rarely used, everyone knows what it means, and I want to make sure everyone around me knows that I am saying goodbye to someone I care about and admire deeply. To my astonishment, even my friends around me do not seem taken aback by my reaction. On the contrary, I see that those around me are taking up my gesture, also touching their left hands to their lips and holding them out towards Katniss. Soon the entire crowd has their hands in the air. I have to say, at this moment, I'm proud of my poor district for this small act.

Katniss looks slightly unnerved at the gesture, her eyes flitting around the crowd, blinking her eyes more rapidly, though she does a good job at keeping her face steady and impassive. As we stand in unified silence, the ever-drunk Haymitch stumbles forward on the stage, catching ahold of a clearly startled Katniss.

"Look at her. Look at this one! I like her. Lots of… Spunk!" he yells out at the crowd. As he continues to yell, he stumbles forward and completely tumbles face first off the stage, nearly landing on the 18 year-olds still clustered at the front of the group of District 12 children. But he's stopped yelling, as he's now managed to knock himself out. Effie finally seizes her chance to regain the audience's attention – both the cameras and the gathered district citizens.

"What an exciting day!" she trills, walking quickly towards the boy's reaping bowl. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" As she snatches out a name from the bowl and rushes towards the center podium, I quickly cross my fingers and let out a last prayer before…

"Peeta Mellark."

_What?_ I freeze, momentarily stunned into disbelief. But there's no denying what I just heard. A thousand emotions zip through my brain – sadness, anger, shock, resolve, but most of all, fear. Collecting myself as rapidly as I can, I turn my face upward as my friends closest to me clasp my arm quickly before parting and allowing me to walk forward. As I approach the stage, I steal a look at Katniss who surveys me calmly, without emotion, before turning her face forward to look off into the distance. I can't help but stare slightly as the sun falls against her olive skin and casts a gleam in her deep, grey eyes. She looks so beautifully steady and strong that it hardens my resolve and I manage to walk solidly onto the stage, taking my place next to her.

The mayor reads his long, drawling recollection of the Treaty of Treason, and then tells Katniss and I to shake hands. As I turn and meet her eyes, it's all I can do to not break on the spot and run over to her and give her a hug. Being this close to her, I want to stroke her hair, look deep into her silvery grey eyes and tell her that everything is going to be okay. But, for the moment, I simply gaze deep into the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen and clasp her hand. At this simple touch, I realize one simple fact that I know to be true above anything else – there is no part of me that can accept the possibility of Katniss Everdeen dying.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This is a pretty long chapter, but I think it's really important for the development of Peeta's story and his thought process through the remainder of the series. Enjoy, can't wait to hear your comments!**

* * *

The Peacekeepers lining the stage converge and whisk me into a room in the Justice Building to await any family and friends who want to bid me farewell. I spend a few moments pacing around the room before simply choosing to settle into one of the soft, cushioned couches against the wall, willing myself to stop shaking.

The first people through the door are my mother and brothers. Jayme and Kane converge on me and grasp me from either side while my mother looks on, coolly, not betraying any emotion. I place a hand on the top of each of my brothers' shoulders, and look back and forth between them as they struggle to find words. I'm barely choking back tears myself, though I'm not sure how long that will last.

"Kid, it's going to be okay," Jayme begins. Kane nods.

"You're strong, you could learn to fight. You might have a chance. Plus that girl brought the attention onto District 12. Just steal the show," Kane agrees. My mother purses her lips. She always does when there's any mention of the Everdeen family, as I know she's still jealous of my father's feelings for Katniss' mother. But as they're currently referring to me trying to ensure that Katniss dies so I can return home, it's hard for me to comprehend why the mention of her makes her so unhappy. I don't think she's aware of my own feelings for the daughter of my father's lost love, so she couldn't possibly realize that I have no intention of playing a part in her death.

"Where's dad?" I ask my mother, wondering what else she may say to me.

"He'll be along later. He sent us ahead while he ran home. Who knows why," she replies curtly, still not making any motion to approach me. I continue to hold onto my brothers as they give me a few more words of encouragement, telling me that it's possible, that I'm not hopeless, that I really could come home. But I just keep my jaw clenched and enjoy these last moments with them. When the Peacekeepers signal that it's time for my family to leave, my brothers each embrace me. My mother walks over to me and places a single kiss on my cheek.

"Goodbye son," she says, and turns to walk away. "Who knows? District 12 may finally have a victor this year." I'm stunned to hear my mother say this. I had figured that she had already written me off as dead. I'm so shocked that I barely hear her make her final comment as she's exiting.

"She's a fighter, that one."

So she doesn't expect me to come home. Quite the opposite, she expects the daughter of the family she hates so much to contribute to my death. This explains her frustration in hearing my brother suggest a possible, albeit probably useless, way to beat Katniss; she doesn't think anything I do will really matter, so it's not even worth trying.

_Well, fine then._ I think, icily. _Maybe I should just dedicate myself to making sure Katniss makes it home._ Even as the thought rolls through my mind for the first time, I know it's probably true. Despite how little contact I've had with her throughout our childhood, I've had deep feelings for her for eleven years. I can't even begin to imagine coming back to a district where she does not exist, where I can't watch her walking home with her sister from school every day. She deserves to come home to her sister. Then, with a pang, I think of Gale as well – the boy who, only this morning had traded with my father for bread to share with her. She deserves to come home to him as well, I suppose, though I have no idea what the nature of their relationship is. Of all the different ways I've imagined my life playing out – many scenarios involving her – I have to admit, this one had never come to my mind.

I'm so lost in my thoughts while staring at the cushions on the sofa on which I am seated, that I hardly notice three of my closest friends who were standing with me at the reaping enter the room. They all hug me and take their turns to say goodbye, but it doesn't last long and before I know it I am alone again.

Finally, my father steps through the door alone. He stops once he has entered the room, clearly unsure of where to begin.

"Dad," I breathe out as I approach him, and then I hug him tightly. I smell the bakery scent that still cling to him – flour, dill, rosemary – and the tears that have been threatening at the edge of my vision since I entered the Justice Building finally spill over. But I don't care. He returns my hug for a moment before clearing his throat and breaking away.

"Son," he says, sighing at me. But he's always been a man of few words. It's clear right now he's got none.

"Dad, I'm going to be okay," I tell him, though the tears currently dripping down my cheeks don't help my case. My dad nods at me though, and looks to the floor, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Peeta, either way, I hope you know I'm proud of you," he says.

"Thanks, Dad. Only," I pause, wondering whether to voice the biggest concern on my mind – whether or not I want to be the one to come home. But I think this is the wrong thing to express out loud, as I know most people would tell me I'm insane and that the point of the Games is to do anything to preserve your own life, not that of someone else. Instead, I hang my head and only manage a small whisper that my father can interpret how he wants. "I don't know what to do."

"You've always been two things: honest and true to who you are. No matter what happens, don't forget that," he tells me. I'm calmed by his words, closing my eyes, trying to pull myself together.

"Mom doesn't expect me to come home," is all I can manage to say in reply.

"I know."

"Do you?" I look directly at my father now. He pauses, but only for a brief moment.

"I think you can do whatever you set your mind to," he says. I'm not sure if he knows exactly what I've been thinking about, or if he believes that this is encouragement for me to have the strength to win and come home. Either way, I don't care. They're the words I needed to hear. They allow me to harden my resolve, and I give him a single nod. With these final words, the Peacekeepers have returned, ushering my father from the room.

"Love you, Dad," I say as I give him a final hug and they pull him from the room, and he is gone. I'm left alone in silence for another minute before being escorted out again for my ride to the train that will bear me away to the Capitol.

I slide into the car next to Katniss, who has leaned her head against the car window and is peering out at the many cameras and reporters swarming us with an almost bored expression on her face. She betrays no emotion. I, on the other hand, look like a crying mess, with swollen red eyes and slightly disheveled hair. Getting a closer look at Katniss, I see that she is slightly disheveled, too, as a few strands of hair have slipped from her braid and are now hanging around her face and over her eyes. But she doesn't look messy. On the contrary, this not only adds to the illusion that she is bored with the proceedings, but also enhances her natural beauty. It's all I can do not to reach over and brush one of the strands from covering her eyes. But I'm also fairly certain that any move to be close to her would simply scare her, and I do genuinely hope to get to know her while I still have the chance.

Once we're on the train and practically flying towards the Capitol, Effie Trinket appears and informs us to be ready for dinner in an hour. I turn towards Katniss, intent on trying to say something to her, but she has already stalked off to her room. Though I'm slightly upset at this, I know I will see her at dinner, so I spin again to walk towards my quarters. Almost immediately, a nearly incoherent Haymitch falls through a door and grabs the wall in front of me for support.

"Haymitch?" I ask, curious to see what my mentor might act like now that he's got charge of two new tributes. He looks towards me, and I'm not even sure he even recognizes me as he grins and stumbles away from me.

"Nap," is the only word I can make out, and he soon disappears through another door, so I move on to my room. I am astounded at the size and luxury at the room in which I will be staying. I immediately go over to lie on the bed. Despite having slept in this morning, I am exhausted from the emotional toll of the day, and am soon in a deep sleep. In my dreams, I see only deep, cool, silver-grey pools of water that I'm just dying to jump into and drink from. But I don't touch them, because their beauty is too pristine to disturb. Instead, I just wander around them, gazing into their rippling depths, wondering what secrets are contained in their depths.

Before long, Effie is knocking on my door for me to come to dinner. I hop up and quickly run to the wardrobe and pull out new clothes, haphazardly putting them on and hurrying out to the dining room. When I arrive, Effie tells me to take a seat as she fetches Katniss, so I sit down and survey the incredible china set before me.

"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie as she re-enters the room, Katniss in toe. As she looks around the room and then directly at me, I realize the color of the pools I had dreamed of during my short nap had been an exact replica of the grey color of her eyes.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I tell Effie, not taking my eyes off Katniss, though she doesn't look back at me.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," Effie huffs, though I imagine she's rather relieved to have him asleep and, hopefully, sobering up.

The food is incredible. Each course presents us with a dish more delicious and filling than the last. I keep telling myself to eat slowly, but no matter how many times I say it, I find myself eating everything at lightning speed.

"At least, you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion," Effie says, observing Katniss and I stuffing ourselves full. I'm content to ignore the comment, but looking at Katniss, I can tell she's deeply offended. The last tributes had been from the Seam, had likely been people that Katniss had known, and I'm sure she's not taking well to the indirect insult thrown at their memory. She covers the anger in her eyes quickly, though, and simply deposits her silverware to one side and begins to pick up the food with her hands and shovel it into her mouth with renewed gusto. I have to stifle a laugh, though I'm also impressed and in awe of her refusal to let even that small insult go unanswered. I'm glad to finally see these small parts of her personality up close. I can't help thinking that she's a more beautiful person than I had ever known.

I'm most excited about seeing the dessert course. Despite my amazement when I see the chocolate cake emerge from the kitchen, I don't even manage two bites before I abandon wolfing down food to inspect the decorative patterns in the frosting. Though I doubt I'll live to frost another cake, I still love looking at it and imagining crafting something like this with my own hands.

Before long, the meal is over. While I wish I could continue eating the delicious food forever, I also have to be glad that it's gone – I'm now feeling ill from having eaten so much. It's taking all my will power to ensure that the meal doesn't make a reappearance. Luckily, I am soon distracted when we are ushered into another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings in all 12 districts.

They start with District 1 and work their way through the events one by one. I take notice primarily of the huge, brutish boy who volunteers for the Games from District 2, along with his partner – a girl who appears to outsize Katniss by a decent amount with a malicious glint dancing around her dark eyes. They beam with pride as they take their place as tributes. There's no doubt in my mind that they are both lethal killing machines. The rest of the reapings pass with little incident, though I hear Katniss give a small, almost imperceptible sigh when a twelve year-old girl is reaped from District 11. Studying the girl carefully, I can see her resemblance to Prim, and know that Katniss must be thinking of her own sister back home. District 12 steals the show, though. Between Katniss' emotional move to protect her sister, the three-fingered salute – thankfully the cameras have failed to capture that I led this particular moment – and Haymitch plummeting off the stage, the brief moment in which I was called to the stage is almost an afterthought.

Effie is grumbling about wigs and alcohol when I tear my attention away from the television.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior," she says. I can't help the laugh that escapes my mouth as I remember Haymitch stumbling by me after we had mounted the train. Somehow, I'm sure Haymitch's on-camera manners are the last thing he's concerned about.

"He was drunk. He's drunk every year," I laugh out.

"Every day," Katniss tacks on. I glance at her, surprised at her add on. But the sly smile that has touched her face momentarily transforms and enhances the beauty of her face, her eyes gleaming slightly. I swallow, wishing I could reach out and touch her arm. But I don't dare.

"Yes," Effie huffs sardonically. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!" Her point is emphasized nearly face plants as he makes his way into the compartment.

"I miss supper?" he manages to slur out, just moments before he vomits on the floor and promptly looses his balance, falling into his own mess.

"So laugh away!" Effie trills with a final huff as she makes her exit.


	4. Chapter 4

I stare down at the pile of clothes and slime that is our mentor for these Games, dread beginning to eat at me as I realize that Effie's words are entirely too true. I look to Katniss, and see the annoyance in her eyes. For a moment, she considers me, before we both stoop to grasp the arms of our drunken mentor and hoist him to his feet. I almost regurgitate my entire dinner on the spot.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks, looking around confusedly. "Smells bad." I look away, swallowing hard, towards where his compartment is, and begin to pull at his arm.

"Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit," I say, as Katniss begins to pull his other arm behind me until we are able to throw him into his own shower and turn on the water. I then look up at Katniss who is staring down at the nearly unresponsive man with apprehension, clearly not wanting to help. I decide to seize this opportunity to do two things – something nice for Katniss, as well as giving me a chance to speak with Haymitch; though, I can only pray he will remember.

"It's okay, I'll take it from here," I tell her. She's visibly relieved and even allows the edges of her lips to curl up a little bit, really looking at me up close for the first time. I feel my heart pound and my chest gets slightly warm from extra blood flow. I quickly turn my attention back towards Haymitch, wondering what to do next.

"All right, I can send one of the Capitol people to help you," Katniss says.

"No I don't want them," I tell her. I need to do this alone, and she leaves. Immediately I begin to pull off Haymitch's clothes and place them at his side in the shower. I then turn to the panel and stare at it, realizing I have no idea how this thing works. Figuring it probably doesn't matter much anyway, I begin to pound on a few buttons until some sort of soap pours into the tub and douses him. I hear him sputtering from under the suds, but I keep it going until I'm pretty sure he must be clean. In my attempts to turn the shower off, I first accidentally turn it down to about 60 degrees, to which he replies with a sharp yell as he swings his arms attempting to land a blow on me.

_Well, at least he'll be a little bit more awake._ I muse as I hand him a towel and pull him out of the shower, leaving his clothes behind. I'm pulling him back into his room when he speaks.

"So, kid, what's with the help? Getting in under my good graces before the Games?" I laugh, because suddenly it occurs to me how ludicrous I am probably going to sounds to him when I tell him what I'm actually doing.

"No, Haymitch," I say. "Actually, just the opposite." He looks at me quizzically, uncomprehending. As I deposit him onto his bed, I know there's no going back now. "Haymitch, it has to be her." His mouth falls open slightly as he struggles to understand my words, but his look of incredulity is quickly replaced by a guffaw.

"Yeah, okay, kid. I'll see how you feel about that in a week before you enter the arena," he laughs out. I shake my head, willing him to understand.

"No, really. You don't understand. She can win, I know she can. But she's going to need your help. Me? I've got no chance. I don't even really want the chance. Not if it means having a hand in her death," I tell him. "I've been in love with that girl for eleven years." It feels good finally admitting it to someone, as I've never told a single person before. My father had a pretty good inkling, but I never directly told him, for fear that it would get back to my mother, or brothers, because I had no idea how they would react. Haymitch runs a hand through his wet, shaggy hair, eyes unfocusing for a few moments and I remember just how drunk he is. I almost laugh at the fact that the one person I have now told probably won't remember it tomorrow. I just simply push him down onto the bed and throw the covers over him. But he chuckles as I'm walking out the door.

"Alright, whatever you say," he says, before rolling over and instantly passing out.

* * *

The next morning, I wake early and make my way to the dining car before anyone else has arrived. To my surprise, Haymitch is the first to walk through the door, though he's clearly hungover. Effie strolls in a few moments later in her usual colorful getup.

"Peeta! Glad to see you're up early. Looks like I'll only have to fetch Katniss then," she trills as she strolls back out towards Katniss' room. I sit in silence for a few moments before Haymitch clears his throat.

"So, did I dream up that little conversation between us last night? I have to say, that would definitely be a new one. And my dreams rarely change," he says, chuckling at his own joke. I stare at him, amazed that he still remembers, but also fairly relieved at not having to find a time and place to tell him again – I don't know if I would have gotten another chance. Realizing I have only a few moments before Katniss enters, I think of a few important things I have to tell him.

"You have to help her, Haymitch," I say, desperately. He waves this away.

"We can discuss that later."

"Please don't tell her." To this, Haymitch laughs.

"Alright. So you'll be the chivalrous, handsome, nice guy, willing to die for the girl you love. But why should she know that, right?" he replies, still chuckling. I grab a roll from the table and start picking at it, trying to hide the flush from my face as Katniss and Effie enter the room. I don't think I do a very good job, because I see her looking at me quizzically from the corner of my eye. Haymitch recovers quickly and invites her to sit. We're promptly served the most amazing breakfast I've ever seen, and I spend most of my time admiring the rolls they've brought to the table, wondering if my family's bakery at home could ever produce any this good.

I look up from the meal and spot Katniss staring at a mug of hot chocolate before her. Though I've rarely seen the stuff and never been able to buy it, I realize that she probably doesn't even know what it is, and may never have heard of it before. I take a quick sip and am amazed at how delicious I find it – I would have thought it would be too rich for me.

"They call it hot chocolate. It's good," I tell her. She looks at my own mug, clutched in my hand, before picking her own up and trying it. Her eyes widen in amazement and a beautiful sparkle of happiness appears in her eyes. It brightens her normally firm features and, for a moment, she looks youthful and carefree. I find myself wishing that she could look like this always. I have to stop myself from grinning and laughing as she proceeds to down the remainder of the mug as quickly as she can.

Instead, I look over to Haymitch and find that he has pulled out his normal bottle of clear liquor and is adding it to his glass. I immediately become disgruntled, wondering how I can count on his help or even trust him if he won't even stay sober for more than half an hour. I finally pick up another roll and tear at it, deciding to dip it into my hot chocolate. I'm surprised when it tastes good, so I continue to do it, despite being completely full, trying to ignore Haymitch and his bottle as it becomes more and more empty.

Before long, I decide to peer up at Katniss and find that the hard determination has returned to her face as she looks at Haymitch's bottle of liquor. But she composes herself rapidly, making her face impassive and addressing him.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," she tells him.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive," he tells her before laughing again at his own joke. I'm immediately overcome by frustration and anger at his clear disregard for Katniss and myself, and my hope that she may be able to make it home alive is slipping away from me more with each sip he takes. I glance at her and find her eyes on me. I glower for a moment before losing my temper completely.

"That's very funny," I say, as I jump up to upend the glass in Haymitch's hand. It shatters on the hardwood ground. "Only not to us."

Haymitch looks at me for a moment, shocked. I'm shocked myself. I've never known myself to lose my temper like that. I'm more like my father – cool, calm, and kind. But I look at Haymitch for only a moment before he swings at me and connects with my jaw. Hard. I fall to the ground, bracing myself for the bottle to shatter over my head, but instead hear a dull thud against the table. When I look up, I see Haymitch looking between the knife sticking out of the table barely an inch from his hand and Katniss, who is now up on her feet, her grey eyes blazing with fury and determination, her jaw clenched, flexing the muscles on her cheeks and neck. This is the girl who I knew would come to the Games – the one I hope has the strength and courage to make it home. This is the girl who started feeding her family alone at the age of eleven, and has made it through hardships I couldn't even imagine. This is more like the girl that I am used to seeing every day, determined to keep herself alive. This is the girl I've been in love with. This is the girl that I am willing to die to protect. Haymitch, I think, finally sees her, too.

"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" he asks. As he looks at me, I can tell by his expression that he now believes what I told him last night – that she really does have a chance at making it home. If he now thinks it, then it must really be true.

Glad to see this, I pull myself up from the ground and grab some ice to place on the swelling that I can already feel developing on my jaw, but Haymitch puts up a hand.

"No," he tells me. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena." I don't understand what he's told me.

"That's against the rules," I reply. I don't really want to get in trouble before entering the arena.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," he tells me. I understand his meaning, though I was kind of hoping to just fly under the radar. I guess that isn't his plan. He turns to Katniss and asks her about her skill with the knife. I'm astounded when she pulls it out of the table and manages to hit a small strip between two wall panels. I knew she had hunting talent with a bow, but this is news to me. She may be even more of a contender than I originally thought. Haymitch then commands us to stand next to one another in the middle of the room as he inspects us.

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough. All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say," he tells us. I glower at him. I suppose I can't complain, as he's agreed to help us, which, hopefully, means helping her, but I'm not sure I trust his promise to stay sober enough. But it seems I have no other choice.

"Fine," I finally spit at him, though I don't believe I sound particularly angry anymore.

"So help us. When we get to the arena…" Katniss begins to ask strategies for the Cornucopia and so on, but Haymitch stops her.

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," he tells us. Katniss seems displeased with the idea, clearly not wishing to give up her small bits of freedom. Haymitch simply dismisses her. "No buts. Don't resist." With that, he grabs his bottle and makes his exit.

Suddenly, the train has entered a tunnel and I know that this is it – the final moments before we enter the arms of the Capitol. Without saying a word or looking at Katniss, I hurry over to the window to see whatever is about to appear before us. The light that enters the window suddenly causes me to blink rapidly to pull the sparkling, colorful, magnificent structures that reach towards the sky and make up the Capitol. I'm stunned into silence, unsure of whether I can even force myself to move at this moment. But my eyes are now drawn to the crowds of people gathering eagerly to see who is in the train now pulling into their city. Most of them look even more bizarre than Effie, with various permanent alterations to their bodies serving to disfigure them, though I know they imagine themselves to be beautiful.

When I feel Katniss recoil from the window beside me, it snaps into place in my mind just what my task is in order to keep her alive. Katniss has a difficult time getting close with people – just about anyone in District 12 could tell you that. She rarely speaks to people she doesn't know, and when she does speak to those she's acquainted with, it's not hard to imagine that it's only out of necessity. I think the only people she has free and easy conversations with are her sister and, possibly, Gale, though I hate to think so. But I've always been good with people. I may not really want to interact with these strange Capitol people, but I'm very sure that I can do a better job than Katniss at getting them to like us.

So, I muster up a beaming smile and start to wave at the ever-growing crowd, and they quickly begin to eat up the attention I'm bestowing upon them. Many wave back and I even see several women blowing kisses and beginning to swoon. As we pull into the station, I turn around and look back at Katniss. She's staring at me, jaw clenched tight, and I can see her emotions quickly shutting off as she puts a wall between herself and I.

"Who knows? One of them may be rich," I tell her, in an attempt to convince her to come join me. But she simply stares at me, distrust filling her eyes, before turning and walking out. I sigh. This may be harder than I thought.


	5. Chapter 5, Part 1

**A/N: So I've been trying to follow along with the timeline/chapter breakdown of the book... But the last one got pretty lengthy, and I want everyone to see what I came up with, so I decided to cut it into two shorter parts. I'll make them Chapter 5 Parts 1 and 2, though, so the numbers can remain on track.**

**Comment and enjoy!**

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As Haymitch promised, we were quickly deposited into the hands of our stylists the moment the train stopped moving. Well, not our stylists as much as our prep teams, who are in charge of making our skin, faces, and hair beautiful for the cameras before the stylists can place us in what will, hopefully, be amazing costumes for the parade this evening.

The moment we entered the Remake Center, Katniss was whisked away by a colorful, chattering trio. Despite her blatant distrust of me on the train, she still stole a last glance back, her face almost pleading for help, before resigning to her fate and trudging off to be with them.

I, it seems, require less work, as only two people greeted me – though just as chatty and just as colorful. Travus – a slender man with jet-black hair pulled into many upright spikes, red irises, and red tattoo designs along his arms – immediately goes to work on my hair. After snipping away at the ends for a few moments, he begins massaging a substance into my scalp similar to that in his own gravity-defying hair. I can only hope I don't end up with the same style. Maede is a woman with bubblegum pink hair curling halfway down her back and what appear to be diamonds inlaid into her teeth, who strips me of all my clothes and begins to rid me, painfully, of the hair on my chest and back, though it's barely visible to begin with. I try to conserve a shred of decency, but it becomes evident quickly that it's not going to happen as they strip me down to nothing to hose and scrub my entire body.

When they've finished, they converge on my face, chatting excitedly about the reapings, this year's tributes, past games that they've loved the most, and many other things that I have a hard time caring about. It's only when their conversation turns to Katniss that I snap back to attention.

"What a beautiful, brave girl that one is," Travus gushes as he removes parts of my eyebrows. Maede is quick to agree.

"When she volunteered for her sister? I nearly died. How spectacular. To do something that brave and be from District 12 nonetheless? She's going to show us something special. I only wish that I could have worked on her!" she pipes, apparently oblivious to the insults she just threw out about both my district and myself. I can't help but grinning encouragingly, despite that. If people already think Katniss is something special, then that is a very good sign.

After what has been at least two excruciating hours, my duo has finally, it seems, put the finishing touches on my makeup and are satisfied with how I look.

"I think we've done all we can do. A few enhancements and you could almost fit in," Travus says, clearly distressed that they can't alter me in any way. At the moment, I'm merely glad that my hair seems to have been combed flat.

They usher me into a small, side sitting room and close the door behind me. In the middle of the room sits a small feast that I can't imagine is just for me, so I take a seat and wait quietly.

Before long, a young woman sweeps silently into the room, and beams at me as my eyes meet hers. She seems normal enough – straight, blonde hair that is cut in a straight line at her shoulders and smooth, pale skin. She seems nice enough, I muse as she approaches me. But I'm wary of trusting her. She's clearly a Capitol native, born and raised. Though natural enough, her skin has clearly been enhanced and smoothed, and her eyes are lined in a bright seafoam green that I would never find on any woman at home. When she stands in front of me, her cool eyes meet mine, and I'm surprised to see that our blue coloration matches almost exactly. I wonder if they are real.

"Peeta, hello," she greets me, grasping one of my hands in hers and squeezing it gently. "My name is Portia; I'm going to be your stylist." Her voice is soft, lower than many other Capitol females that I've met, though not lacking the odd affect of the accent.

"Nice to meet you," I say, politely. She trills a light laugh.

"Somehow I doubt that, but you're very kind," she tells me, still smiling sweetly. I'm taken aback by the answer. It seems so out of place. But I feel I'm starting to warm up to this woman more now that she has said that, so I don't comment on it.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Peeta," she says. "This is my first year in the Games. Frankly, though I knew I was going to be matched with District 12 because of that, I was worried I was going to have no idea what to do with you besides the typical coal miner stuff." She sighs, looking apologetic for telling me this. "But, as luck would have it, I was paired with an old friend of mine named Cinna who is absolutely brilliant, and I think we've come up with a marvelous plan for you tonight. It's going to be like nothing anyone has ever seen."

As she describes the costume I will be wearing in tonight's opening ceremonies, I decide that I will be able to trust Portia. She seems to have an interest in our survival in the Games. That is, if I survive the evening.


	6. Chapter 5, Part 2

**A/N: As promised, here's part 2 of the fifth chapter! Enjoy!**

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Later in the evening, Portia and the duo escort me into the entrance of the Remake Center to line up for the opening ceremony, dressed in all black except for the cape that Portia is fussing with obsessively as it flutters behind me. As we emerge into the center and I see the chariots lined up, it takes all my willpower to not run over to the dark figure I recognize to be Katniss and pull her into my arms. I walk calmly towards the waiting chariot, but feel my heart pounding when she finally spots me and her face breaks into a relieved smile, much reflecting the emotion I felt at seeing her from afar.

I'm stunned by her appearance. Somehow, while keeping her appearance true to her – the hair, the clear grey eyes, the soft pink lips – they've managed to enhance just about everything to make her most beautiful features stand out. And when she gives me that smile, my breath nearly catches in my throat.

As we're loaded up into our chariot and Portia and a handsome man, who I can only assume is Cinna, begin to fuss over our capes and our position, I feel Katniss lean into my shoulder slightly.

"What do you think about the fire?" I hear her whisper, almost breathless. My jaw tenses.

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine," I reply. It's a half-hearted joke. I can tell she's nervous. If I were honest with myself, I would say that I probably am too. But I trust Portia. And I don't think that these new stylists would want to look bad in their first Games by burning up their tributes. Still, you never know.

"I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle," Katniss says.

"Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" I ask. I want him to make sure this is safe. Plus, what are we supposed to do once we get out to the crowd? I hate the idea that he's leaving us to wing it. I might be able to come up with something, but I have a nervous feeling about Katniss' ability to warm up to the crowd. Though, I think with some relief, she looks so stunning it probably won't matter what she does.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she replies. I look at her for a moment, startled by the joke. But I'm quickly doubled over laughing, and she is, too. For a brief moment, I feel close to her, and she is smiling at me – a genuine smile that I have so rarely seen from her. I want to remain in this moment for longer. I want to feel that I may have a chance at being close to her, before one or both of us is forced to die. But I can't think about that now, because the music for the opening ceremonies begins to boom out and before I know it, we're the next chariot to go.

Cinna leaps up behind us, holding a flaming torch. For the first time, looking at it, I get really nervous. I force my breath to remain steady as he lights the capes flowing behind us ablaze. I feel the sensation of the flames there, but am relieved to realize that there is no burning. He touches her face briefly, looking in her eyes. I feel a twinge of jealousy when I can see how he has truly come to care for her, even in a brief time, but force it out of my mind.

"Remember, heads high! Smiles! They're going to love you!" Cinna bids us farewell and jump down as we begin to move forward. As he's dipping from our vision, he shouts one last thing up at us, motioning, though I can't hear him. I think I understand. Katniss clearly doesn't.

"What's he saying?" she asks me, though her last word fades away as her eyes move to my face. I see the red of the flames reflecting in her grey eyes and she looks momentarily stunned at my appearance. If I look even half as beautiful as she does, I can't blame her. The flames dance around her neck and body, hugging the small curves of her hips and back. In the grey twilight, the flames highlight the angles of her face even better than the makeup ever could have, her dark hair looks shiny and soft, and her eyes are sparkling with what could just be the light from the stars. I almost grab her and kiss her on the spot. Instead, I settle for following Cinna's suggestion.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I tell her, immediately seizing her hand so she will not have the chance to withdraw. Her touch is electrifying.

I smile and wave and play my part, but the crowd screams and cries and is enthralled with only one person – the ethereal, fiery beauty whose hand I am holding. As we continue through the city, she even begins to warm up to the crowd, which I had not expected to happen, and she smiles and waves and I think I even see her blowing kisses from the corner of my eye. I try to push the wish that I could receive one of those highly sought-after kisses out of my mind and simply focus on playing my roll and remaining steady. When we reach the City Circle, I feel her hand begin to slip from mine. I clutch it, tight, desperate to hold on.

"No, don't let go of me. Please. I might fall out of this thing," I tell her. It's true. While I feel strong now, I'm certain it's only for her. If I had to let go, I feel like I might fall and be swallowed up by this crowd as they clamber to reach her – the girl on fire. Though I sense hesitation, she agrees to keep her hand locked with mine.

Once we have done a final lap around the Capitol and Katniss has dazzled all the citizens yet again, we finally end up in the Training Center where Portia and Cinna immediately descend on us. Portia is gushing as she removes our flaming accessories, sounding more like a Capitol girl than I've heard. Every few sentences she squeaks slightly, and then tries to tame her voice through her excitement.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," I tell Katniss, trying to ignore the pain and stiffness in my hand. She surveys me carefully.

"It didn't show. I'm sure no one noticed," she tells me.

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often, they suit you," I say. I'm being honest, but I see the automatic suspicion in her eyes, which lingers only for a split second before she retreats to hide behind her emotionless wall again. I smile at her, the way I've wanted to since the moment I joined her on stage in District 12, trying to convey to her that she's with someone she can trust. To my surprise and giddiness, she reacts by kissing me gently on the bruise that Haymitch gave me only that morning, though I'm not entirely sure why she did it. The kiss is tender and sweet; I can hardly believe the cool shiver that it sends through my body.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Heads up, this is a LONG chapter, but I really like it. Hope you enjoy!**

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We enter the cavernous floor that will be our quarters for the time leading up to the Games, and I am dumbstruck by the sight of it. Effie is babbling on about what an impression we made at the opening ceremonies and, while I am glad for that, I am not listening to her words as I take in the glistening marble walls, decorative artwork, and plush furniture that fill the rooms around me. From where we stand, I can see only a dining room and living room with a large screen television, and I wonder where exactly our quarters lie. I only begin paying attention to Effie when I when I hear her trill,

"Well if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!" I frown, wondering what on earth she is talking about. Even those of us from the merchant class of District 12 learn at school that coal does nothing of the sort. I glance at Katniss and see that she's just looking mildly amused but somehow pleased with what Effie has said.

"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that. But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary!" Effie finishes. I suddenly understand that she's talking about trying to help us get sponsors. Since I have so little faith in Haymitch, it's good to hear that at least someone cares about our lives. As Effie marches off, I turn to tell Katniss as much and see that she is stalking off to find her room.

I huff, disappointed and confused. I thought we had made some headway at the opening ceremonies towards developing some type of relationship – a friendship, even. But it doesn't seem that way now. As I watch her disappear down the hall, the elevator door next to me opens and Cinna steps out. He smiles at me.

"Hello, Peeta. I don't think we've formally met yet. I'm Cinna, Katniss' stylist," he says, smiling warmly at me.

"Hi, nice to meet you. Thanks for the outfits tonight. You really made us look amazing," I tell him. He chuckles a bit.

"You mean I made _her_ look amazing," he says pointedly. I freeze, looking over his shoulder at where Katniss disappeared and feel myself flushing. Cinna continues to laugh as I search my head for an answer.

"I… She… I mean… Who said anything like that?" is all I manage to sputter out, incoherently. He puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Come on, why don't I show you the roof?" he asks. So, I follow him up a nearby set of stairs to the roof. It's a breathtaking sight, as much as I hate to admit it. The light from the setting sun reflects off the shiny metal, stone and glass of the skyscrapers and makes the whole city look like it's glowing. It's spectacular, and I'm glad that I seem to be free to come here. As I look at the ledges, I wonder how that's possible. A tribute might decide to jump.

"Anyone can come up here?" I ask. He nods.

"There's a force field there. If you jump, it throws you right back up," he tells me. I look curiously over the edge of the roof, but see nothing except the ground. Shifting my thoughts, I turn to Cinna.

"Cinna, I don't know what you think-" I begin. Cinna holds up a hand, stopping me, and smiles kindly.

"Haymitch," he tells me. I quickly go from confused to annoyed. "It's why I decided you two should hold hands. The more we can present you united, the more sponsors will sympathize and want to help when they see you protect her." It makes sense to me. I have to give credit for Cinna for being brilliant. But that's not what's on my mind.

"Did he tell a lot of people?" I ask, hoping Haymitch hasn't let my secret slip to more souls. Cinna chuckles at my attempt at self-preservation, but, thankfully, shakes his head.

"Just me. I understand not wanting to tell her at this point. But, I need you to prepare in case we feel that the best next step is for her to know everything, okay?" he says. I shake my head and look at the ground.

"She wouldn't believe me if I did," I tell him, wishing desperately there was a way to make her believe.

"It might not be her that needs to believe," Cinna says. I understand his meaning. The sponsors. Though all I want is to make her believe, maybe making the sponsors believe will be enough. Maybe, once she's home and Haymitch and Cinna can tell her that it's really true, she will know. I suppose that will have to do. Still looking at the ground, I nod my head. Cinna clasps my shoulder again, immediately making me think of my brothers when they came to tell me goodbye. Trying to keep my emotions steady, I take deep breaths all the way downstairs as Cinna escorts me to dinner.

When we get to the dining room, I see Portia standing on a balcony overlooking the city outside, so I go outside to greet her.

"Cinna! Peeta! There you two are. Look at the celebrations beginning outside on the streets now. You can bet that most of them are just talking about you and Katniss," she says, beaming.

"I'm sure," I tell her. "We were amazing. Thank you, Portia." Her smile widens. Though her teeth are too white, I can't help thinking that she really is more genuine than anyone I had expected to meet here. She's blatantly just pleased that she was able to have played a part in the night's success. But my thoughts then darken at the idea that she may be just as excited when the action of the Hunger Games begins. I'm saved from having to make more conversation as Cinna and Portia strike up conversation about costumes, flames, and the success of the opening ceremonies.

I'm relieved when we are ushered in for dinner and even more relieved to see Katniss gliding out in a simple silk shirt and trousers. Her makeup has been washed off, and her hair is down in a soft curtain that I would love to bury myself in. _It's how I imagine her in my dreams._ I think, longingly. She's not done up like she had to be for the opening ceremonies, but she's also now missing that hard edge that life at home has given her. I wish she could be this way forever. _Then again,_ I think, ironically, _I think this every single time I see her._

I sit and try to make polite conversation with the table, but am never able to keep my eyes from flitting to Katniss for more than a few moments. I'm surprised to see her accept a glass of wine. I think of doing the same, but I don't need my actions and speech to be inhibited in any way, so I decline the glass offered to me.

A massive, beautiful cake that my bakery could never even dream of being able to produce appears on the table for dessert. At home, the best we can do is sponge cake with normal frosting and some intricate piping decoration. But this cake is covered in real sugar flowers and a beautiful glaze, which the servant who placed it on the table lights ablaze and it flickers magnificently. I'm still staring at it in awe when I hear Katniss' voice.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol? That's the last thing I – oh! I know you!" she says. I groan inwardly, hearing the effect the alcohol has had on her as she slurs slightly. Next to me, Effie gasps, offended. She looks upset, though I don't understand why.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox? The very thought," she snaps.

"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks, echoing my question. Though the adults at the table look at her as if she's asked something inane.

"Someone who committed a crime," Haymitch answers. "They cut her tongue so she can't speak. She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her." Halfway through Haymitch's explanation, I see realization cross Katniss' face and she looks momentarily horrified. She musters an apologetic face, looks at Effie, Haymitch, and the stylists, and tries to stammer out an acceptable response.

"No, I guess not I just-" she begins. But it's clear she has nothing. I summon up the most innocent name I can think of that I'm sure Katniss will know, and quickly snap my fingers.

"Delly Cartwright! That's who it is," I announce to the room. "I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realize she's a dead ringer for Delly." Despite the confused look in Katniss' eyes, I can see she's grateful to have an out.

"Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair," she says. The adults don't look to have quite relaxed, so I decide to add on, "something about the eyes too." Effie settles back into her chair.

"Oh, well. If that's all it is," Cinna says, turning back to his plate. I keep my attention on Katniss, as she picks at her plate, uninterested in the proceedings until we move to the living room to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies. The television shows us to be even more radiant than I had originally thought, especially Katniss – though I'm pleased with my appearance as well.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch. I catch him smirking at me, but I think the remainder of our party misses it, because they are transfixed on the screen.

"Cinna's," Portia tells him.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice," Haymitch says. I smile. It's rebellious, all right. But this is just the least of it. What I plan to do is unprecedented. And Cinna gave me the perfect kickoff.

At the end of the recap, Haymitch dismisses us until breakfast, when we will meet before our first training session.

"Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk," he tells us. I glare at him, willing him not to tell anyone else in our party about my feelings for Katniss. He just shrugs at me as Katniss turns, so I hurry after her. When she turns to enter her room, I step in front of her a bit to get her attention. I want to know about the Avox girl.

"So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here," I quip, smirking ever so slightly at her. She looks at the ground, looking slightly embarrassed, and then starts to look around slowly. It occurs to me that anyone from the Capitol may be able to hear our conversation. I immediately think of the roof.

"Have you been on the roof yet?" I ask. "Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though." She seems to have caught my meaning, so she agrees to follow me upstairs. Her eyes widen when we step outside, taking in the lights of the sparkling city. I now realize that there are neon lights of different colors against almost every building, and almost every window is lit brightly. We move over to the ledge that I had stood against earlier in the day, and she and I peer down on the people gathered on the streets.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here," I say. "Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?" I reach my hand out towards the open air in front of me.

"What'd he say?" Katniss asks.

"You cant," I tell her. Almost on cue, I feel a sharp zap and recoil my outstretched hand, shaking out the pain. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof."

"Always worry about our safety," Katniss says, her voice dripping with irony. "Do you think they're watching now?"

"Maybe," I say, realizing I don't know if anywhere in the Capitol is safe for conversation. But as I say it, I spot the garden behind Katniss' head, which is filled with wind chimes blowing softly in the constant breeze. "Come see the garden."

Once in the room, I turn and watch Katniss as she bends and examines one of the flowers. It's such a simple, pretty sight; I wish I could paint it. I just watch her quietly, waiting for her story.

"We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game," Katniss begins softly.

"You and your father?" I ask.

"No, my friend Gale," she says. I feel the familiar jealousy that comes whenever I think of the tall, handsome boy from the Seam. But she did call him only her friend, I realize. So, I listen to the rest of her story. She tells me about the Capitol-born pair who she spotted escaping through the woods, and how they were captured as she looked on. One of them was killed. The other, apparently, ended up here, a slave to the Capitol. I wonder if the Capitol knew that Katniss had been there, and that's why the girl is now waiting specifically on us.

"Did they see you?" I ask.

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock," she says. I'm relieved at this. It does seem to have been a coincidence. I can't imagine the Capitol was searching for other bodies on the ground if they had found the two they were looking for, and I don't like the idea of the Capitol becoming fully aware of her hunting habit. I look to her to tell her as much, and realize that she has started shaking from head to toe. I whip off my jacket to wrap it around her shoulders, but she recoils a little. It's disappointing to see. Even though she just told me a story that she clearly doesn't want other people to hear, she clearly doesn't really trust me. I don't know how to convince her that she can.

"They were from here?" I ask, returning to the story. I reach over and secure the jacket around her, my fingers momentarily grazing her neck. Her soft skin is warm, and I quickly imagine pulling her over and wrapping her in my arms. She nods in response to my question. But she says doesn't know where they were going, nor why they would leave the Capitol.

I think of the sparkling buildings and the colorful people, all of whom have always had everything they needed and more. But then I think of the fact that there is nowhere to have a secret conversation without being closely monitored. I think also of how clueless they are, and know that I would never want to live in such ignorance.

"I'd leave here," I say before I can stop myself. I don't mind having said it to someone, but I quickly realize how loud I was. "I'd go home now if they'd let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime." I force a laugh and smile at her. She gives me a warm smile back, and I think she was pleased to here my fleeting rebellion.

"It's getting chilly. We better go in," I tell her, to which she nods. As we're walking inside, I realize that there is still one question that will nag at me until I ask her. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" I remember her running out of the crowd and hoisting her up, with Prim still screaming and bawling. She looks a little surprised at my curiosity.

"Yes. Do you know him?" she asks.

"Not really," I admit. "I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other." I think of how even the merchant girls who I grew up with whisper and giggle whenever they see Gale – the mysterious boy from the Seam. Though I know they aren't cousins, at least some of the girls still hold onto that hope, because they want to win Gale's favor almost as desperately as I want to win Katniss'. Almost.

"No we're not related," she says simply. She doesn't offer more information, and I'm frustrated at that.

"Did he come say goodbye to you?" I ask. I can tell she's starting to become unnerved and uncomfortable with this conversation, but I can't help myself.

"Yes," she says. But then she changes the subject. "So did your father. He brought me cookies." I'm surprised by this news, though I suppose this explains his late arrival to say his farewells to me, and why he did not come with the rest of my family. My mother would not have approved.

"Really?" I respond. "Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." While I do believe this to be true, I can't help but think that he knew more about my feelings for Katniss than he ever let on. He did always point Katniss and Prim out to me under his breath when they stopped in front of our shop to admire the cakes, occasionally joking that I should go take credit for having decorated them, knowing that I wouldn't. Perhaps he even assumed that I might try to ensure her safety in the arena, because he thinks he would have done it for her mother.

"He knew your mother when they were kids," I tell her. I can tell she's surprised by this information. Apparently her mother never told her about my father, just as he mentioned her so rarely to me.

"Oh, yes. She grew up in town," she says. She really thinks that's all there is to the story. I'm saddened, wishing that she knew the history there. Perhaps then she'd be able to better understand why I'm trying to be close to her. But we've arrived at Katniss' room, so I know I won't have the chance to tell her right now.

"See you in the morning, then," she says, handing me back my jacket and escaping into her room.

Once I am settled in bed, I stare up at the ceiling for a while, thinking mostly of Katniss. As much as I long for more, I know that we've interacted more today than we ever have before. For now, I'll have to content myself with that. My last thought as I drift to sleep is the sad thought that I might have to content myself with that forever.


	8. Chapter 7, Part 1

**A/N: I really enjoyed writing this part of the chapter, so I hope you all like it as much as I do! Can't wait to see your comments!**

* * *

That night, I dream of Katniss in a pure white, silk dress. I realize it's a wedding dress, and as I watch her walk I think that she's walking to me. I think that, somehow, despite the Games, we have both made it home. And now she has fallen in love with me. My heart flutters momentarily with joy. But she glides by me before coming to a stop next to Gale, looking as handsome as ever in a black suit with flame details on the sleeve, paying homage to the girl on fire. It's only then that I realize that I am only a ghost, having sacrificed myself for her, looking on as Katniss' life goes on as I wished.

Only Gale seems to notice my presence, because I spot him smirking triumphantly at me. But Katniss doesn't even notice that. I suddenly understand that he must have seen my love for her come through in the Games, while she, even after, remained unaware. I feel the scene slipping away from me, even as I call out to her to tell her the truth that I should have told her all along, but her eyes just barely meet mine before she fades away.

I awake with tears on my face, and stumble sleepily into the shower. I stand under the stream of hot water for several minutes taking deep breaths and willing myself to stop crying before even proceeding to experiment with buttons on the complicated panel, deluging myself in a million different oils and soaps before finally hearing Haymitch knocking at my door, hurrying me to breakfast.

I sit and moodily start poking at my breakfast. Thoughts of my earlier dream and the upcoming training session fill my head and I find myself unable to make much conversation. Katniss' expression at seeing our matching outfits isn't really helping my mood. But, the day must proceed, whether or not I want it to.

"So, let's get down to business," Haymitch eventually says. "Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." I look at Katniss, knowing that I want nothing more than to train with her. Haymitch must know this, too, because he's looking expectantly at Katniss. She simply looks a little confused.

"Why would you coach us separately?" she asks. My mood uplifts a little bit.

Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," Haymitch tells her. Katniss looks at me inquisitively, and I jump at this moment before she can change her mind.

"I don't have any secret skills," I tell them. "And I already knows what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." My father loves buying them. My memory flashes to the morning of the reaping, when Gale delivered a squirrel to my house in exchange for the loaf he undoubtedly shared with her. I wonder if she had shot that one, too. Katniss nods.

"You can coach us together," she says. Perhaps she doesn't hold me in as much contempt as I had been imagining. Perhaps she's even coming to consider us friends. I find myself smiling lightly at the thought of the time I will be spending with Katniss over the next week.

"All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," Haymitch says. I think for a moment, and realize the only thing I really pride myself on is my baking skills.

"I can't do anything," I admit. "Unless you count baking bread."

"Sorry, I don't," Haymitch says. "Katniss, I already know you're handy with a knife." Katniss shakes her head slightly.

"Not really," she says. I wonder at that. She certainly seemed to be good the previous morning. "But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" Haymitch asks. Katniss hesitates, which confuses me.

"I'm all right," she finally says, hesitantly. _What?_ I think, utterly confused. _Why isn't she admitting how amazing she is? She must know it._

"She's excellent," I correct. Katniss whips her head to me, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. I figure she must not understand how I know this, so I try to explain myself. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer." Everyone in town loves buying meat from Katniss, even the butcher who can obtain expensive, Capitol meat whenever he wants. I look at her, pleased with my explanation, but she's still glaring at me with her eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing?" she hisses.

"What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself," I tell her. I can't comprehend her anger. All I said was the honest truth, but somehow this seems to frustrate her. My mood starts to devolve again.

"What about you?" she snaps. "I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour. Tell him that. That's not nothing." I just want to bury my head in my hands with frustration and confusion. First, the fact that she's noticed me at all catches me entirely off guard, and makes me wonder what else she knows about me. Then, her apparent unwillingness to accept her skills frustrates me. Her annoyance at me is the most confusing thing of all. I don't know what I've done to upset her.

"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't," I tell her. I mean it as encouragement, but I realize my voice has more malice in it than I intended. She keeps her eyes narrowed at me and whips back to Haymitch.

"He can wrestle. He came in second in out school competition last year, only after his brother," she tells him. Again, I'm shocked that she even remembers that. But I still don't see how that's going to help me compared to Katniss' skills. I just wish she'd own up to it.

"What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I say, the depth of my annoyance and frustration finally breaking through.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat," she starts to shout. "All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance! If I get jumped I'm dead!" I'm amazed that she has so little faith in herself. Surely she doesn't imagine herself sitting in the middle of a field, just waiting to be picked off?

"But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking of people with arrows!" I answer. I don't know how I'm supposed to help her if she refuses to help herself. Finally, my frustration comes to a head. "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye? As if to cheer me up, she says maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" Katniss just rolls her eyes.

"Oh she meant you," she dismisses. With a jolt of sadness and anger, I remember my mother's final, barely audible comment.

"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' _She_ is," I tell her. Katniss freezes, her grey gaze boring into mine. She looks suddenly apologetic, before she turns her eyes downward to the roll in her hands.

"But only because someone helped me," she whispers.

_What?_ I wonder incredulously, my eyes also moving to the roll. _Surely she can't still feel indebted to me because of that? _ It finally hits me that the strong, proud Katniss – who has survived so much on her own and trusts so few people – may hate me talking her up because she feels that she has already accepted too much help from me. My eyes flit to Haymitch, who just looks mildly amused. For a brief moment consider just admitting then and there that I am in love with her. But, if there is a time, this is definitely not it. So instead, I wave her comment away.

"People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you," I tell her. Who wouldn't want to support the girl on fire?

"No more than you," she says. Her comment catches me off guard, and I wonder if she really thinks it's true. But I know it isn't. People may like me well enough, but I have no ability to make an impression the way Katniss does. I think of Cinna – whose fondness for her was evident even after just a few hours with her yesterday – and the adoring Capitol fans during the opening ceremonies, who don't even know her, but were already clamoring for the attention of the girl on fire.

"She has no idea. The effect she can have," I tell Haymitch, who, I can tell, is just barely holding back laughter. I keep my eyes on the table, trying not to flush with embarrassment at what I just said. It's the closest I've ever come to admitting my feelings to her. When I finally steal a glance at her, though, she's just glaring at the roll in her hands.

Haymitch turns the conversation back to our strategies for training, but I hardly listen to a word he says. I only react when he tells us to stay at one another's sides at all times when in public. I start to protest, knowing that Katniss won't like the idea of it, but Haymitch cuts our arguments short and dismisses us until training. Katniss quickly stalks off and slams the door. Haymitch just chuckles as he pulls out a flask.

"She's either dense or too proud for her own good. I tell you what, boy, even if you did tell her you loved her, I have no idea how you would actually convince her," he says. I just nod sadly at the table, wondering if my dream last night may have been more of a vision of the future after all.


	9. Chapter 7, Part 2

I stand outside on the balcony overlooking the city until Effie trots over and wraps on the glass door, indicating that it is time to attend training. She is just starting to fidget about Katniss not having appeared yet when I see her slinking out of her room. Her face has returned to its usual impassive state, so I cannot read what she is thinking. But she avoids my eye completely as we enter the training room and join the other tributes to listen to the head trainer's instructions.

I try to pay attention to what she has to say, but I am distracted by the massive brute from District 2, who has chosen to direct his contemptuous smirk right at Katniss while she stares at the little girl from District 11. He's the definition of a Career tribute – huge, muscular, fierce, and undoubtedly good with weapons. He has probably trained his whole life for his moment to win the Games, and I can't imagine he's too pleased that a small girl from District 12 has been outshining him thus far. I don't consider myself short, and I feel dwarfed by him. I may be strong and Katniss may be deadly with the right weapons, but I don't know how either of us would able be able to take on that monstrosity and win. The girl next to him is not much better; she's my height, at least, and while the boy just seems confident to the point of arrogance, the look in her eyes is positively murderous. But she, unlike him, does not seem to have chosen a specific target. Yet.

I realize that the trainer has stopped talking, and I turn to see Katniss sizing up the male tribute from District 11. He's nearly as large as the boy from 2, and just as angry looking. I'm less terrified of him just by virtue of him not being a Career, but I still wouldn't want to take him on in a fight. I see the same dread that I felt at seeing the Careers reflected in her eyes. I poke an elbow into her arm, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Where would you like to start?" I ask. She looks around, following the Careers' paths.

"Suppose we tie some knots," she says. I agree and follow her to the station. Katniss wasn't lying about her knowledge of snares, and she deftly crafts the snares that our instructor shows her. I struggle with the skill, but am pleased when Katniss stops to help me, even showing me a few easy tricks. We soon move to camouflage, which I'm thankful is something that I will be good at.

I lose myself in dabbing the colors on my skin, imagining that I am decorating myself as a large cake. Halfway through my work, I even find myself smiling, and the instructor is pleased with my skill. I look up to show Katniss the leafy pattern I have crafted on my arm, but find her staring off in the direction of the District 2 boy.

"I do the cakes," I tell her, holding up my arm. She turns back to me and blinks, clearly confused.

"The cakes? What cakes?"

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery," I tell her. I think of how my father points her and her sister out to me when they stop to look at them, and wonder if she remembers looking at any of those designs. She bends to inspect my arm.

"It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death," she says. She sounds irritated, and, again, I found myself wondering what on earth I have done to bother her.

"Don't be so superior," I quip. "You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-"

"Say we move on," Katniss cuts me off. I sigh and hang my head, resigned to just follow the moody beauty around as we move from station to station. I make continuous attempts at conversation, but she is clearly not having it, so I eventually just fall completely silent. Whatever relationship I thought we might have been able to have, I now know beyond a doubt that I was kidding myself. She wants nothing to do with me, really. She's just following Haymitch's orders.

The next day, while we're throwing spears, I notice Rue – the girl from District 11– standing aloofly nearby and watching Katniss. I point her out to Katniss, thinking that she might be pleased to see that she has an admirer. But, of course, I'm proven wrong.

"What can we do about it?" she snaps, hurling the spear and hitting the target dead-on. I'm momentarily glad that attacking other tributes is forbidden.

"Nothing to do, just making conversation," I sigh, and return to silence.

The only moment where Katniss seems pleased at all with me is when I manage to best all of the Capitol-provided hand-to-hand combat partners rather easily. I can't help wonder whether she's just pleased to have been right about my ability to excel in that area. I don't allow myself to think too long on it.

We only really speak at lunch, where we have to keep up the façade of friendship at a time where the other tributes can watch us more carefully. More often than not, though, I talk about whatever comes into my head while Katniss occasionally mutters one or two word phrases, picking grumpily at her food. I end up talking about baking more often than anything, even taking to dumping out our breadbasket and describing the breads from each of the districts to her.

"You certainly know a lot," she says, and I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not.

"Only about bread," I joke. She just stares at me. "Okay, now laugh as if I've said something funny." Even though it's forced, I can't help but thinking how charming and melodic her laugh is. Hearing her laugh is the closest I've come to hearing her singing in many, many years. _If only it were at all real,_ I think with an inward sigh, and ask her to tell me a story while I smile.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" she asks. Here I've been, talking about bread, and she has stories about being chased by bears. I feel foolish for having been the one speaking at all, and wish I could just ask her to tell me her entire life story.

"No, but it sounds fascinating," I tell her, earnestly. Despite her obvious distaste with me, and my complete inability to understand her thinking most of the time, I can't help but long to hold her in my arms as she tells me the story. Her life is at once more difficult and more amazing than mine will ever be, and I consider myself lucky to have even been a tiny part of it, because it has made her into the incredible person in front of me.

* * *

The evening before our evaluations, Haymitch and Effie are engrossed in their last attempts to give us direction based on our reviews of the previous days. Well, my reviews of the days; Katniss has taken to being silent and picking at her food during meals with our escort and mentor.

Haymitch, I'm pleased to see, has become invested in our progress, and really does offer helpful advice on what skills we should seek to improve upon the most. He's even reached the point of being overbearing on occasion, which, while annoying, gives me more hope for his ability to be useful while we are in the arena.

"Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink," I laugh to Katniss as we walk to our rooms. She makes an odd sound of contempt.

"Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around," she says. I sigh heavily. Apparently even laughing at Haymitch is lost on her now.

"All right, Katniss," I tell her, and we walk silently the rest of the way to our rooms.

The next day, Katniss and I continue our surly silence unless either of us notices someone inspecting us, in which case we speak a few forced sentences before falling silent again. During lunch, when they start calling tributes for evaluations, we don't even make eye contact as we wait our turns.

When I am finally called to enter the training room, I don't bother to glance at Katniss before beginning to make my way forward.

"Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights," she says hurriedly. I'm so shocked that she said anything at all that I'm at a rare loss for a reply.

"Thanks. I will," I say, racking my brain for something to say. "You shoot straight," is all I come up with. I almost laugh as she nods and I walk away.

As I enter the room, I hear what could only be the sounds of singing coming from the Gamemakers' booth. Looking up at them, I see about half of them have their wine glasses up in the air and are clumsily swaying back and forth to the song. They're drunk. Very. I groan inwardly, wondering what I could possibly do to get their attention now. Only a few of them seem to be taking any interest in me at all, and even they seem to be sporting the foggy expression that I've only really seen on Haymitch's face.

Squaring my shoulders, I wander over to the weight station that I have been avoiding for three days and immediately pick up the heaviest weights. They're heavier than the bags of flour I'm used to carrying, but I force myself to suck it up and hoist them over my head. Winding myself up, I hurl the first weight forward and am pleased when it takes the arm clean off of a dummy placed at the spear throwing station, more than five yards away. As I go to toss the second weight to my throwing hand, I misjudge the size of it and it slips through my fingers. I just barely manage to dance my feet out from under it as it slams to the ground.

Cursing, I pick the weight back up and throw it, this time managing to knock the head off of the dummy. I run to retrieve the weights and return to my spot, repeating this process until the dummy is almost completely dismembered and I have knocked all the spears off the rack and they scatter the floor.

"Thank you, Mr. Mellark, you may go," a voice finally announces. I look back up at the Gamemaker's booth for the first time since picking up the weights and notice that a few more are peering at me curiously over their wine glasses. But three of them have fallen asleep in their chairs, so I don't take this as a very good sign.

I thank them and walk out, dreading the scene that Katniss is about to walk into, and hoping that she can find some way to get the attention she deserves.


	10. Chapter 8

The elevator doors have barely opened to the District 12 quarters when Haymitch and Effie descend on me, demanding to know details of the evaluation. Ignoring their onslaught of questions, I just shake my head, insisting we wait for Katniss. It doesn't matter how I did – I'm dead either way. Effie huffs in annoyance, not understanding why I'm insisting we wait. Haymitch just eyes me curiously, but concedes and leads us to the living room to wait.

We don't have to wait long, though. Within ten minutes, we hear the ding of the elevator and the doors slide open.

"Katniss, come to the sitting room, we want to hear all about it!" Effie chimes. I crane my head towards the elevator doors, but only in time to see her for a brief moment before she sprints down the hall, her face buried in her hands. We all hear her beginning to sob before the door slams. I turn to Haymitch and see a look of worry etched into the lines of his face, and instantly the dread I first felt at seeing the drunken Gamemakers fills me again. I have never seen Haymitch look this concerned about anything.

"What do you think happened?" I ask him, quietly. We both ignore Effie as she begins to circle around the room, waving her hands and rambling about manners and being taken for granted. Haymitch just shakes his head.

"Beats me, kid," is all he offers in reply. We sit for another few minutes in silence except for Effie's occasional irritating comments. Finally, I've had enough of this horrid, tension-filled silence, so I stand and leave without another word. I walk up the stairs to the roof and settle myself in the garden, next to the flowers that Katniss has inspected just a few evenings ago.

I stare at one of the flowers and am suddenly filled with such sadness, it threatens to consume me. Its petals are a beautiful shade of my favorite color – a pale orange that reminds me of the sky during those many sunrises that I watched while kneading the dough for the day's bread. I had always admired the soft beauty of the morning twilight and how, no matter what dark things were happening in the world around me, the sun never failed to come up again. It was something that even the Capitol could not harness control of. Staring at the flower, I find myself wondering how something so beautiful had ended up in a place so ugly. This brings my thoughts to Katniss. I think of her, as she was the day I first saw her – small, quiet, but portraying an air of confidence that was evident in her demeanor, and she was happy. But misfortune and hard times had hardened her, and cut her off from the rest of the world as her day-to-day life became a struggle to keep herself and her family alive. Despite everything, she remained strong and unbreakable. But as I think of the girl sobbing downstairs, I can't help but thinking that she's starting to crack.

I think back to the moment I saw her collapse outside the bakery, when I was immediately overcome with a sense of protectiveness and a need to do whatever I could to ensure she was okay. I had to help her in that moment, even if it wasn't what she wanted. That is the same feeling that fills me now. I'm not sure what I can do, but somehow, I know I have to come up with a way to ensure that, no matter her mistakes with the Gamemakers, that she can still get the sponsors that she needs in order to win. But I don't even have time to come up with an idea, as a Capitol attendant startles me out of my thoughts and indicates that it is time for me to return downstairs for dinner.

Haymitch, Effie and the stylists don't press me for details once I have reached the table, though Portia puts an arm around me and squeezes me reassuringly. We remain almost silent, even as Katniss arrives, and I can tell from her face that she's in no mood to share. But, of course, we can't avoid the topic forever.

"Okay, enough small talk," Haymitch finally says. "Just how bad were you today?" Katniss' mouth presses into a firm line, and I know that she is not going to be the first to speak.

"I don't know that it mattered," I tell everyone. "By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go." Haymitch nods, shifting his eyes coolly from mine to Katniss' face.

"And you, sweetheart?" Finally, she speaks.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." I feel my jaw drop open and hear Effie's spoon clatter as she drops it into her bowl of soup, horrified at this revelation. Even Haymitch seems unable to react. Katniss flushes.

"You _what_?" Effie gasps.

"I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" she shouts.

"And what did they say?" Cinna asks.

"Nothing," she says. "Or I don't know. I walked out after that." I smile slightly, trying not to laugh. As bad as her actions were, I can't help but be glad that perhaps her spirit isn't entirely broken.

"Well that's that," Haymitch finishes the conversation.

"Will they arrest me?" Katniss asks.

"Doubt it. Be a pain to replace you at this stage," he says.

"What about my family? Will they punish them?"

"Don't think so. Wouldn't make much sense," Haymitch explains. "More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena."

"Well, they've already promised to do that to us anyway," I snort. Haymitch agrees.

"What were their faces like?" Haymitch asks.

"Shocked. Terrified. Ridiculous, some of them," she says, and I can see her mood lighten as she even starts to smile a little. "One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch." Haymitch starts to cackle. The vision of it in my head is so ludicrous that I can't help but join in the laughter. Even Effie looks amused.

"Well, it serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District 12 is no excuse to ignore you," she says with indignation. I'm surprised by this uncharacteristic outburst from Effie, and she even looks startled at having said it herself. She looks around as if checking to make sure that no one except our company heard her. "I'm sorry, but that's just what I think."

It's an odd moment. My appraisal of Effie shifts as I realize that for all the times that I have thought of Effie as just another Capitol pet, happily and willingly carting us off to the Hunger Games year after year, she may not actually be as supportive of the Capitol as I had assumed. Perhaps Effie isn't nearly in possession of as much freedom as I imagined. Perhaps she's almost as scared of the Capitol as we are.

"I'll get a very bad score," Katniss says, an edge of sadness returning to her voice.

"Scores only matter if they are very good," Portia explains, telling us that people have been known to purposely get bad scores in order to make people think that they are weak.

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get. If that," I say. "Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot." Katniss laughs and grins widely at me. Though I'm still worried about what our scores will be, I manage to find some comfort in the fact that I have cheered her up.

We gather in the living room after dinner. Though Katniss' mood has improved, as has my own, our conversation has lessened considerably as we all start to become more and more nervous for the revelation of our scores. It doesn't help that we will be the last two scores announced, and have to wait through seeing everyone else's scores first.

Unsurprisingly, the first four tributes – the Careers from One and Two – pull by far the highest scores of the group. The tributes from District 2 – Cato and Clove – both get tens. I barely notice the other scores as the faces and numbers flash by. Finally, I see my face appear on the screen and snap back to attention. I swallow and realize my mouth and throat have gone completely dry.

An eight flashes on the screen. My eyes widen as shock and relief hit me. Apparently I impressed someone; my score puts me ahead of most of my competitors, with the exception of the Careers, but I have even managed to match at least one of them. Perhaps I can be more effective in these Games than I thought.

Next, Katniss' face appears on screen, and immediately my nervousness returns. My score might do me some good, but it's Katniss' score that's really going to make the difference here. I look at her face and see her brow furrowed in concentration, her grey eyes boring into the screen. Her score flashes on the screen, but it's a moment before my mind actually registers what it said. She got an eleven, which puts her beyond even Cato. Her eyes widen and I see relief hit her, then she turns and smiles widely.

The room explodes with excitement and the sounds of congratulations being thrown around. But the feeling of happiness doesn't hit me. Instead, I feel fear. I think of what must be going on downstairs in the District 1 and 2 quarters as they see that a small girl from District 12 has bested them. Katniss probably has no idea, but what she has done is made herself a primary target in the Games. They will be lusting after her blood from the moment we set foot in the arena.

When I get to bed that night, I'm consumed by the thought that I need to come up with a plan to help ensure her survival, and I need to think of one soon. Only one idea seems to accomplish this in my mind, though I dread what I think I am going to have to do. I spend the night drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, trying to decide if any other plan will achieve my goal. By morning, my brain has been exhausted, and I still know that this is the best plan that I have.

When I enter the dining room for breakfast, I'm relieved to see that Haymitch has arrived already and Katniss hasn't yet. I walk directly to him and stare him in the face.

"Haymitch, you need to train me alone for the interview," I tell him. His eyes narrow at me, clearly trying to deduce my motive for requesting this. Effie starts to protest, asking why on earth I would choose to do such a thing, but Haymitch holds up his hand, silencing her.

"What's going on, boy?" he asks. "Her score have you scared?" He doesn't say this in an accusing tone, but for some reason I take this deduction of my motives very personally. He thinks that I have changed my mind about trying to save Katniss.

"No," I reply firmly. "I'm going to tell all of Panem that I'm in love with her."

* * *

**A/N: Enjoy and tell me what you think!**


	11. Chapter 9, Part 1

**A/N: The second half of this chapter may take me a little while, for some reason I'm having a hard time writing it in a way that I really love.**

**Also thank you all so much for all your comments so far! They've been really helpful - keep them coming!**

* * *

Effie gasps dramatically. I suppose I should stop being shy about my secret, but I still find myself flushing and getting hot.

"You're _what_?" she says, and gapes at me. I open my mouth to speak but Haymitch hushes me.

"We'll discuss this after breakfast, boy. For now, let's not say anything," he says. Effie starts to protest, but Haymitch shoots her a harsh look that makes her fall silent, so she contents herself with leaving to rouse Katniss. Haymitch sits silently, inspecting me as I try to banish the flush from my cheeks before Katniss enters the room. He opens his mouth as if about to say something, but is cut off by Effie's return. Katniss joins us not much later, and I keep my eyes focused on the plate in front of me. I'm focused so intently on the food in front of me that I hardly notice when Katniss starts asking about the interviews.

"Well, there's been a change of plans about our current approach," I hear Haymitch say.

"What's that?" Katniss asks.

"Peeta has asked to be coached separately," he says, with an indifferent shrug.

I curse Haymitch under my breath. He couldn't have told Katniss that it was just easier to be separated for the interview coaching? I glance up and catch Katniss' eyes surveying me carefully. For a brief moment, I see a look of hurt in her eyes. But it disappears quickly, replaced again by her emotionless continence.

"Good," she says. For a moment, this upsets me. Then I realize I don't know what I was expecting her to do – to argue perhaps, or even ask why. But the girl on fire would never do such a thing. She has made it clear enough she's not interested in extended interaction, so it may have even come as a relief. Which only leaves me wondering why she had looked so hurt, even if it was only for a brief moment. "So what's the schedule?"

* * *

After breakfast, Katniss is sent off to work with Effie on her presentation skills. I'm almost sad that I'm missing this meeting – between Katniss' obvious contempt for Effie and her general lack of people skills, I'm sure it's going to be a very entertaining session. But Haymitch, instead, takes me to the sitting room to work on the content of my interview.

"All right, boy, time to talk. What's your plan?" Haymitch says, staring at me expectantly. I breathe, and try to think of how best to explain myself.

"You and I both know that by getting that eleven, she made herself a target," I start. Haymitch nods, but continues to stare at me. "So she needs those sponsors more than ever. If they see me protecting her in the arena – if they see me _dying_ for her – it will make people like her and help raise sympathy. But only if they understand why I'm doing it. Otherwise they'll just think I've gone mad." I hear the desperation rising in my voice, as I hope Haymitch understands my plan. Thankfully, I see him nod.

"It's not going to be the easiest sell, but I think I can make it work," he tells me. I let out a sigh of relief. "I gotta say, kid. I'm impressed; I really thought you'd end up changing your mind. I still think you're an idiot. Guess that's not for me to say though. The audience should lap it up and love her. But, the audience needs to love you, first. Unless they care about you, they won't care about who you love." I pause, realizing I hadn't thought about anything other than standing up and declaring my love for Katniss, but this can't be the entirety of my interview.

"Can't I just be lit on fire again?" I joke, and Haymitch laughs. We pass jokes back and forth for the next few hours, and by the end, I feel much more at ease about my upcoming interview. I'm good enough at talking to people, and I've always been known for having an easy sense of humor, so it shouldn't be too difficult for me to gain favor from the crowd. And I know exactly how I'm going to ensure that everyone gets to hear my confession about Katniss; I only hope that in that moment I'll be able to find the words that I need.

"It's almost time for lunch. Any last questions?" Haymitch says.

"Just one," I reply. "What are you going to have Katniss do?" Haymitch lets out a derisive snort.

"She's the one who we should just set on fire again," he jokes, but then his face becomes somber. "Honestly, I don't know kid. I think even you'd admit she doesn't have a lot of natural charm. Hopefully we'll come up with something." I nod, as the importance of me nailing my portion of the interview becomes clear.

"Should I tell her beforehand? You know, give her some heads up?" I ask. Haymitch shakes his head.

"You know she would never let you do it," he says. I want to tell him that, somehow, I will convince her. But she and Haymitch are more similar than either cares to admit; if he says it is what she will do, then it probably is.

"Wonder how she's going to react," I muse. Haymitch laughs again.

"That is a sight I cannot wait to see," he says. With that, our session concludes.

Katniss looks sullen when Haymitch and I enter the dining room, and Effie has fallen into an uncharacteristic silence, contenting herself with shooting Katniss contemptuous glances every few minutes. Suddenly I find myself dreading the afternoon with Effie; if she's in a poor mood, it's likely to be almost unbearable. When we have finished eating, Effie turns to me and finally speaks.

"Well, Peeta," she sighs. "Do you care to get started?" I nod and follow her to my room, where she instructs me on how to conduct myself as I enter and leave the interviewing area, how to sit while on stage, how to smile, how to walk, and just generally how to compose myself. She becomes more at ease as she realizes this session is going to be easier than the last. I follow her direction without question, finding that I'm pretty good at presenting myself, despite having questions pelted at me and am able to keep up a witty banter with Effie through the entire process. By the end, Effie's mood has lightened considerably. She even smiles as she swats my hands away from my hair.

"Your hair will be styled. Don't fiddle with it, you'll seem less interested in what is going on around you," she commands.

"Got it. Smile, laugh, don't play with my hair, and don't slouch. I think I can handle it," I tell her. She sits on the bed across from where I am seated and considers me carefully.

"Peeta," she begins, and I immediately know what she wants to talk about. "Are you really in love with Katniss?" I pause, unsure whether she is perhaps testing me to prepare me for my interview, but the solemn expression on her face tells me she's genuinely invested in the answer. Still, I force myself to hold my head up and look her in the eye.

"Yes," I say. Her eyes grow soft. Normally this moment is when I would become embarrassed at having admitted it, but I don't. Not anymore. This is a truth I'm going to have to get used to saying out loud. "I always have been." She nods and purses her lips, but I see the tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Well, I'm very… Intrigued, I suppose, to see how this turns out," she begins. Her voice falls to a whisper. "But, I think it's going to be beautiful." Her admission is so unexpected that it is a moment before I register that she has gotten up to leave, saying that she will see me at dinner. However, after another moment, I realize that if Effie is any sort of representation of the Capitol – and I'm very sure she is – then what I am going to do will have the ability to bring the citizens to tears. It means that this might actually work after all.


	12. Chapter 9, Part 2

Katniss does not appear at dinner that evening. But I gather by Haymitch's sour mood and sudden drunkenness that his session with Katniss did not go well. We eat dinner in near silence. Effie makes the occasional attempt at conversation but no one really seems that interested in listening to anyone else. The next day is the same – I eat breakfast with only Haymitch, whose mood is no better than it was the night before. Effie has apparently been called away on some business or another to prepare for the evening, and Katniss is already in with her prep team for the evening's interviews.

I'm so distracted by thoughts of Katniss and what this evening will hold that I fail to pay attention to what buttons I am hitting when I enter the shower, and I curse as I am deluged in what must be a full bottle of rose oil. It froths around me and fills the entire shower with bubbles, which I bat comically at in order to reach back to the panel. I try to cleanse myself of the strong smell, but am only marginally successful, as before long my prep team is banging on the door and summoning me.

I try to keep my nerves calm as Travus and Maede chitter about, smearing lotions and makeup on my face, styling my hair, and making sure everything about me looks perfect. Again, I tune in only when the conversation turns to Katniss.

"Darling, what I wouldn't give to know how Katniss got that eleven!" pipes Maede. I grin knowingly at her, and Travus' eyes widen.

"You know, don't you Peeta? Oh please you must tell us! Everyone in the Capitol has just been dying to know," he gushes. Maede squeaks excitedly and waits to see if I will answer. I just laugh and shake my head.

"Sorry guys, you know those sessions are secret. I can't even tell you," I laugh. Maede looks stricken with pain, and Travus guffaws in response.

"Right you are, I suppose. It's too bad," he muses.

"If only your eight was a mystery Peeta, we'd be just as interested!" Maede babbles. "But you're clearly so strong, it's not hard to imagine that you impressed the Gamemakers." I'm shocked by her comment, but I'm not pleased that my so-called "secret" skill is not so secret after all.

"I didn't realize it was so obvious," I say, glumly. Travus just laughs again.

"Your secret is safe with us, don't worry!" he chimes, running a comb through my hair one last time with a flourish. "We've gotten to inspect you up close. No one else has!" I can't help but laugh at the joke. I start thinking that I should start listening to their conversations more often. They may be clueless and a little silly, but truly they aren't bad people, and they are even entertaining at time. We chat for a while longer, laughing and joking with one another, until Portia sweeps into the room and tells them they can go. It is at that moment that I realize I will never see my two bizarre friends ever again.

"Maede, Travus," I begin. They pause, staring at me from the doorway. "Thank you." Maede squeaks and runs from the room. Travus smiles gently at me and walks back to me to clasp my arm. Again, I flashback to my brothers saying goodbye to me at the Justice Building. That seems like a lifetime ago.

"Take care of yourself, Peeta," he says softly. "And good luck." With that, he exits the room. I turn to Portia and see a sad smile resting upon her face.

"That was very kind, Peeta," she tells me gently. I shrug, trying to feign indifference. But they are just two of the long list of people I have had to say goodbye to, and I don't want to think about them now. So I quickly change the subject.

"So what will it be tonight, Portia? More fire?" I joke. But a grin plays around her lips.

"Just a touch," she says. She pulls a black suit from a garment bag hanging nearby. It looks plain at first look, but upon a closer inspection I see glowing flame details around the lapel and cuffs of the suit. It's a subtle detailing, but beautiful and it is evident that it is from Portia's soft hand.

"Are Katniss and I matching again?" I ask. I imagine her, ethereal as ever, in a black gown with soft red flames dancing around her. I'm sure the girl on fire will overshadow me again.

"Not quite," Portia says, a small smile still dancing in her eyes and face. "But Peeta tonight is about you. Everyone is going to love you." I smile in return.

"They're going to love what you did. No one will even notice me through this. I should just let the flames talk for me," I joke. Portia beams. Once I am dressed, she excitedly pulls me over to a mirror to look at myself. The flames on the suit dance and move with me, and for a moment I think it is too bad that I will have to be sitting motionless for the majority of the interview. I look hardened and strong, ready to take on my fellow tributes – except for my face, which remains relatively unchanged. I'm glad for this, because I don't want to be hidden behind a mask of makeup. Not tonight.

"Thank you, Portia. The suit is wonderful," I tell her. She beams proudly.

"Now just go out there and be your charming self. They're going to love you and be clambering over themselves to give you gifts in that arena," she tells me matter-of-factly. I smile sadly, wondering whether to tell her that this is not my plan. But I decide to keep it to myself; she will find out soon enough. Effie knocks on the door, chiming that it is time for us to be off. So we go out and wait by the elevators for Katniss and her team to emerge. I'm staring at the cuff of my suit, watching the flames dance under the light, when I hear gasps coming from Portia and Effie and my eyes shoot up.

I'm stopped dead by the sight of Katniss. Nothing I could have imagined could have compared to the beauty walking towards me. She appears to be glowing. Every time she moves, light and shadows dance off of her swaying body. She is a fire goddess, dancing through flames unscathed. I wish only to dance with her in the flames, heedless of whether I will be burned. Even her exposed skin is glowing with a soft golden light. For a moment, I wonder if this person before me could possibly be her, but then her grey eyes settle on mine and I lose myself for a moment in the light twinkling in them. I realize I am standing with my mouth hanging open, and I flush red. I quickly shut my mouth and try to look away, but am unable to tear my eyes from the jewels dancing around her slender form. Thankfully, Effie jumps in and begins to gush excitedly, but also pushing us toward the elevator.

Throughout the entire ride, I keep my eyes affixed to the back of Katniss' braid, trying to ignore the magnetic pull I now feel towards her. It won't do for me to be so distracted by her tonight. _Or maybe it will,_ I laugh to myself. Certainly no one is going to doubt my feelings for her after seeing her look like this. Half the men in Panem will probably fall in love with her on sight. It might not even matter what she says.

The twenty-four tributes are quickly ushered onto the stage to take our seats in a large arc. However, right as some of the Capitol attendants are waving us out, I feel Haymitch grasp my shoulder from behind.

"Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it," he growls. I glower at Haymitch. But when I sneak a glance at him, he nods at me, his expression hard. I know the comment was directed at Katniss, most likely, but I feel like he could have found a better place and time to remind her. But we take our seats around Caesar Flickerman, the ageless host of the interviews, and wait our turn. I try to stay focused on what the other tributes are saying and take note of them, but I am constantly distracted by Katniss, who is seated next to me. The magnetic pull I felt towards her in the elevator has not gone away, and her right hand hangs over her thigh, gliding over the jewels of her dress. I have to resist the urge to seize her hand. Instead, I try to focus on everything I want to make sure I say during the interview – that I love Katniss, that I have loved her since I was five, that I would do anything to make sure she survives the Games. The list goes on. So I recount them in my head, as the tributes interviews slip by.

Finally, Katniss is called. Her eyes glint with fear for a brief moment as she steps up to where Caesar awaits, and I simply cross my fingers that she manages to get through this. But her nerves are evident, as it takes her a moment to even register Caesar's first question. But I'm pleasantly surprised – she actually makes them laugh a few times. And then her attention turns to her dress, and she begins to spin, becoming the dancing fire goddess that immediately enthralls the audience as she did me. I hardly need to do anything at all – they already love her. Once she has become so dizzy that I can see her begin to tip sideways, Caesar sits her back down and they continue to chat good-naturedly. I try to focus, but I start to realize how close I am to being called, and begin to lose grip on what is going on in front of me.

They talk about her training score, which I notice has the Career tributes on the edge of their seats. But they are disappointed, as she reveals nothing. Then the conversation turns to Katniss' sister. I hear the strain in her voice as she tries to talk about Prim while remaining calm. But, amazingly, she gets through it. I find Haymitch's face among the other mentors in the audience and see the relief there and I know she has done better than he expected. But then the buzzer sounds, and I know what comes next – it's my turn. Haymitch moves his eyes to meet mine and nods again. I swallow hard, trying to will my throat into not being so dry. Luckily, I have a moment to collect myself, as the audience is still enraptured with Katniss' movement back to hear seat while I stand to walk up to the front of the stage. Caesar and I shake hands and I am so taken aback by his warm smile, I feel myself relax before I can even think twice about it.

"So, Peeta," Caesar begins, taking his seat and indicating that I should do the same. "Tell me about your life in District 12. You're a baker, are you not?" I nod and grin – this is something I know I can talk about.

"Yes, I am. My whole family owns the bakery back home; it's been in my family forever," I tell him, and then grin.

"Now is that all you do?" Caesar asks, to which I laugh.

"Yes. All day every day, I just roll dough. Why bother with school when I have such a talent?" I boast jokingly. "It's a miracle they managed to get me out the door to the reaping at all. But, you know something Caesar? It's not as useless as it seems. You learn more than you can imagine from rolling dough." Caesar chuckles and looks confused.

"What do you learn?" Caesar asks.

"Bread teaches you about people, of course," I say, acting like it should be obvious.

"And how's that now?" he asks

"Well, take some of my fellow tributes for instance. Do you know what the District 7 bread is?" I ask. We continue in this manner for a while; I tell him about how I knew what district each of the tributes was from because they all bear something in common with their district breads. I have Caesar and the audience in stitches, and I am feeling confident and calm now. I may know nothing about fighting and killing, but I've always been a natural with people. Except for Katniss; she's the only person who has ever rendered me speechless.

"Well, Peeta, now that you're here, how are you finding it? Is the bread as agreeable?" Caesar asks.

"I haven't had any run-ins with the bread yet. But I have to admit, I had a really hard time in the shower today. Do I still smell like roses?" I ask and lean in. Caesar looks momentarily shocked, but obliges and smells me. I wonder how much time I have left, and am just thinking about how to transition now, when Caesar – practically prophetic in his question asking – turns to me and makes his face more serious.

"So, do you have a girlfriend waiting for you back home?" he asks, smiling encouragingly. I freeze for a moment, wondering how to proceed from here. But I know that this is the moment that I wanted, and if I don't take it, I am a fool. Caesar is looking at me expectantly and I realize that I have momentarily lost my voice. Instead, I just look at the floor and shake my head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" he asks. I almost laugh, but instead I let out a sigh as I think of the girl sitting just yards behind me. Yes, she is special, and even she doesn't know it.

"Well, there is this one girl," I finally say. "I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

"She have another fellow?" Caesar asks. I think of the many boys I have seen watching her over the years, curious about the beautiful and strong Everdeen girl – though all were too scared to approach her. Then I think of Gale, whose relationship with Katniss I am unsure about, but it certainly doesn't seem to be merely platonic.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," I admit.

"So here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then!" Caesar tells me. I snort.

"I don't think it's going to work out," I admit. Caesar immediately looks baffled. "Winning… won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?" he asks. At this moment, it feels as if my heart has moved to my head and all the blood in my body is rushing through my face as I blush. I know that this is the moment that I wanted to get to, but my mind is not with the crowd sitting on the edge of their seats to hear my next words. It is with the fire goddess sitting behind me, staring at the back of my head, wondering what on earth is going to come out of my mouth next. I desperately wish that I could turn and say my next words directly to her, rather than to the Capitol people. I want to see how she reacts. After eleven years, I am finally going to tell her how I feel; only it is nothing like I had ever imagined it.

"Because," I stutter, willing myself to let the next words fall from my mouth before I change my mind. "Because she came here with me."

* * *

**A/N: Hey all, thank you so much for those of you who have read and commented so far - it has actually really helped me out! Please keep the reviews coming, I'd love to know what you all think!**

**This was a shockingly difficult chapter for me to write, not sure why. So let me know what you think, and what it seems like I had a hard time with. I even had to jump forward and start writing my Catching Fire and Mockingjay stories to get into Peeta's headspace. (Yes, I'm planning on those stories, don't you worry!)**

**Next few chapters should be out soon - I started cranking away at those!**


	13. Chapter 10

_Don't look up,_ I think urgently, as I see a flash of Katniss' face on the screen before shifting my eyes downward. I don't want to see her reaction. No matter what it is, I'm sure it will cause me to break down. My mind is racing and is clouded with thoughts of what I have just done; I think of the people back home who have just seen my big reveal and wonder what they think. Do they believe me? What are they saying? My mind is so scattered that I barely hear Caesar's next words.

"That is a piece of bad luck," he says sympathetically. I force my eyes up to meet Caesar's and find that they are actually a pleasant, soft brown. I hear the voices of the crowd cry out in anguish.

"It's not good," I agree, quietly.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady. She didn't know?" Caesar asks, his eyes flicking back to the other tributes. I chance a glance out at the crowd and see them all staring up at me, enraptured. I am careful to keep my eyes directed at the audience, avoiding the screen on which I can still see a glint of red jewels, indicating they are still affixed on Katniss. I spot Haymitch; his face is stretched in a triumphant grin.

"Not until now," I tell him shaking my head. I don't want to admit I had never had the courage.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks emphatically, turning to the crowd. They roar with approval, begging them to bring her back. I try to keep the blood from draining from my face as I secretly pray that they won't; if she's going to react, I want her to do it with just me around. Thankfully, Caesar saves me. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours." I nod, thank Caesar, and grin as the crowd leaps to its feet, roaring with approval, support, and adoration. I wander back to my seat, careful to avoid Katniss' eyes, and for the first time turn to the screens and see that, although all the tributes are standing and taking their final bows, every camera has focused only upon Katniss and I. Her face is, as usual, emotionless, and refuses to betray what she is actually thinking.

As the tributes file off the stage, I try to catch up with Katniss so that we can talk, but she hikes up her skirts and scurries into an elevator that has no more room. She simply stares at the closing doors, refusing to meet my eyes.

I hop into a nearly empty elevator and punch the button to force it to close without being full, and I am not sure what to think about Katniss' reaction. Maybe she doesn't know what to think herself. I don't want to disturb her if she needs time to process, but I can't help but pray that she will want to talk to me when we get back to the twelfth floor. Either way, I just want to know what she's thinking.

I never expected the reaction I got.

I barely have my feet out of the elevator when I feel a force slam into my chest and am thrown backward towards the ground. I hear glass shattering only moments before I hit the ground and feel shooting pain run up my arm, originating from my hands. But I don't bother to look down at them; my eyes are fixed on Katniss, glowing with rage, her grey eyes on fire with fury. The force with which she hit me shocks me; she has more power than I would have ever imagined in her tiny body.

"What was that for?" I ask incredulously. I had imagined that she might be confused, even upset by my revelation. But what I could not have predicted was the flaming fury with which she now scowls down at me.

"You had no right!" she yells. "No right to go saying those things about me!" My mouth hangs open, unsure of how to respond. I rack my brain, trying to come up with words that might calm her down. Thankfully, I don't have to, as Haymitch, Effie, and the stylists exit one of the elevators at that moment.

"What's going on?" Effie chirps, astounded at the scene before her. "Did you fall?" I glower at her, angry at the proceedings. This is turning out the exact opposite of how I had been imagining the moment I would tell Katniss my feelings for her after eleven years. Katniss is angry, I can't understand what's happening, and we're being presided over by oblivious and drunk adults. None of this is how I would want it, and I hate that the Games have ruined even this most personal secret for me.

"After she shoved me," I tell them, as Effie and Cinna pull me to my feet. Haymitch rounds on Katniss, who is still scowling.

"Shoved him?" Haymitch demands. Katniss looks him proudly in the eye.

"This was _your_ idea, wasn't it?" she spits. "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" I'm stunned, wondering how she could possibly think I made her look like a fool. Didn't she notice how enthralled the audience was with her? She really does have no idea what effect she can have on people.

"It was my idea," I immediately correct. "Haymitch just helped me with it." I begin pulling shards of glass from my hand and wince as the shooting pains run through my arms with each tug.

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she yells, her voice spilled with disgust. My mouth falls open again. Clearly, she doesn't understand what happened if she thinks any of this was about me. Was she even listening to a word I said? This couldn't have been less about me if I had wanted it to be.

"You are a fool! Do you think he hurt you?" Haymitch retorts, verbalizing my thoughts. "That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."

"He made me look weak!" she yells. Weak? I'm incredulous to her ignorance. She got an eleven in training, above anyone else. There is nothing I could have done to make her look weak. Everyone else knows it, why doesn't she?

"He made you look desirable!" Haymitch yells in reply. I'm grateful for his defense of me, because at this moment, I doubt I could adequately explain myself. Katniss Everdeen, the only girl who can render me speechless, does it again. "Let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" Despite everything else, I can't help but smirk slightly at the revelation that we're all the citizens of the Capitol are talking about at the moment.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers," Katniss moans. Haymitch reacts violently, slamming Katniss into a wall.

"Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived," Haymitch retorts. "The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?" Cinna steps up and pulls her gently away from Haymitch.

"He's right, Katniss," Cinna tells her. For the first time, I see her anger beginning to subside, replaced with puzzlement. I, on the other hand, am still finding myself livid about how this all proceeded.

"I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," she says.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," Portia tells her. I want to yell in disdain. Everyone is doing a very good job at making this sound like some perfectly planned strategy, rather than the actual truth. Maybe that's the only way to make this okay with her. A strategy is fine, but real human emotion? Probably too much for her, except for with Gale. I think of him again, wondering for the millionth time what the nature of their relationship is.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I snort. Katniss flushes again, but whether from anger or embarrassment, I can't be sure.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she snaps. Well that's interesting. But it doesn't subside my frustration.

"Whatever. But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it," I reply, deciding to go along with their "just a game" strategy. Apparently, my hopes that Katniss would consider the alternative were false. "Besides, you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?" Finally, Katniss pauses in her onslaught as I continue to pick the shards of glass out of my hands angrily. Her grey eyes dart nervously around the room, looking at the adults for confirmation or contradiction. She finds neither.

"After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" she asks. Having ignored the screens entirely after my revelation, this is actually something I'm interested in hearing.

Everyone says they did. At this moment, I wish I _had_ looked for myself, because I'm not entirely sure I believe them.

"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," Haymitch tells her. However, he also gives me a pointed look, which I take to be his confirmation that my decision to reveal my true feelings for her worked exactly as I had hoped it would. Katniss casts her eyes down for a moment, and then her grey eyes meet mine. The anger has subsided and in them, I see genuine remorse.

"I'm sorry I shoved you," she says to me. I feel my anger subsiding, and I don't even try to cling onto it. Instead, I just try to remain indifferent.

"Doesn't matter," I tell her. "Although it's technically illegal." I think I see a small smile at the edge of her lips at my joke.

"Are your hands okay?" she asks.

"They'll be alright," I tell her, plucking the last of the large shards from my left palm. Haymitch then leads us to dinner, but I can't sit for more than a minute before Portia is forced to take me to my room for treatment.

"Peeta, what you did was very brave," she tells me. "But, what were you thinking? Telling the people that will help her far more than it helps you. You have to know that." She sounds almost desperate by the end. I smile sadly at her.

"I know, Portia," I sigh. Her eyes widen as realization crosses her face.

"You weren't lying," she whispers, her eyes wide.

"No, it was all the truth," I say.

"Why didn't you tell her that?" she asks. I pause, and realize I'm unsure of the exact reason why I didn't correct her after she pushed me down. But then I'm overcome with sadness as I understand the sheer number of reasons I know it wouldn't have done any good.

"She wouldn't have believed me if I had. Plus, she was so angry at first; I don't think my heart could handle seeing her true reaction. Her anger alone was enough to tell me how she feels, I think," I say. Portia's eyes well up with tears, and I know I should stop talking, but I continue. "And, anyway, everyone else was talking like it was all for show. It was too much to try to make _everyone_ understand that it wasn't. Then there's the fact that this, of all places, times, and ways, is not how I want her to find out. She'll understand someday, after she comes home. But now isn't the time." I freeze as I realize I've said too much; Portia finally comes to the realization that, despite all her hard work, I have no intention of leaving the arena. Rather than the anger I expect, however, I find only shock and sadness in her eyes as tears start to roll down her cheek.

"Peeta, you have to fight to come home!" she exclaims. I just shake my head.

"I can't explain it, Portia," I tell her. "But I can't come home without her. I don't remember a world without her." I hang my head as she just surveys me. She places a hand beneath my chin and lifts my eyes to meet hers, and I'm again shocked by how closely our eye colors match.

"You may not be able to do anything to save her, Peeta. If that's the case, you have to be able to pick yourself up and come home," she says. I nod.

"I know. I'm just not planning on being there to see it if she's not going to make it. I plan on being gone before that becomes even a possibility," I reply, simply. I can tell she wants to say more, but I stop her. "Let's just get back to dinner." She follows me out, soft and silent.

All through dinner and the replaying of the interviews, I try to stay focused on what is going on around me, and not on the overwhelming sadness of the night and what is has _really_ meant – that I will never be alive to tell Katniss that I really, truly, do love her. But it is still all that I can think about, even as Effie, Cinna, Portia and and Haymitch walk us to our quarters to bid us their final farewells.

Effie, first, takes hold of my hand and squeezes reassuringly, thanking Katniss and I for our excellent performance, and wondering whether they may upgrade her from District Twelve. Though Katniss' face darkens in annoyance, I almost laugh; I can hardly take Effie seriously anymore. She's so harmless, in reality, and has even proven that she cares for us. And then, like that, she has scurried out. My eyes then turn to Haymitch, who has been hovering near the wall, clearly unsure of what to say.

"Any final words of advice?" I ask. Haymitch snaps into mentor mode.

"When the gong sounds, het the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?" he says, looking at us fiercely.

"And after that?" Katniss asks.

"Stay alive," he says, simply, before heading off, probably in search of a bottle. I turn to Portia, and behind me I hear Katniss scurry quickly into her room and shut the door. Cinna shakes his head sadly, and bids Portia and I a quick goodnight before walking off also.

"Portia, I just wanted to-" I begin, but she holds a hand up.

"You don't need to explain a thing, Peeta," she says.

"But I-" I start, but she shakes her head, stopping me again. Then, to my shock, she reaches up and places a warm hand on my cheek.

"You're too good to be here. But I'm so proud to be your stylist," she says. "I'll see you in the morning." With that, I'm left alone.

I think for a moment about entering my room and attempting to sleep. But, even if I find it, I know I will just be tormented with nightmares of everything that might await Katniss and I. Instead, I climb the stairs to the roof and sit silently, listening to the screaming celebrations of the Capitol citizens on the street, losing myself in my own thoughts.

I think about my family, wondering how they are feeling tonight. I wonder how often my ice queen mother has told my brother or father to let it go and forget I was alive. I wonder how she reacted to my declaration of love for Katniss. I hope it didn't make her mad at my father, though somehow, I'm sure it did. She hates the Everdeen family so much, and it's all because of him. Then, my thoughts turn to Katniss. I sift through every memory I have of her – from when we were five, to the day with the bread when we were eleven, to the many times I admired her from afar. I wonder how Gale reacted to my revelation tonight. I wonder about her future with him when I am not around. I mourn the loss of every future I had ever imagined with her, and allow myself to finally think of the little future we have left.

I don't yet know what my strategy to help keep her safe will be; I had spent so much time worrying about my interview that I hadn't even thought forward to what tomorrow would hold. I suppose I can't really come up with an idea until I see the arena, and see what we're really up against. I certainly won't be of much help against the brutal Careers, except perhaps to wound them in a fight. Katniss will have better luck taking them out from above with a bow. But there just has to be something I can do to help, rather than standing idly by and waiting for my own death.

My death. I wonder how it is going to happen. But I don't wonder for long.

"You should be getting some sleep," her soft voice breaks me out of my thoughts and I jump. But I can't turn to look in her eyes; I don't want to know what emotion she holds there right now, if any.

"I didn't want to miss the party," I tell her, indicating the screaming people below. "It's for us, after all."

"Are they in costumes?" she asks, leaning her body over the railing just to my left. She's so close, I can smell her sweet scent as the breeze moves her hair softly around her shoulders. It's a wonderful, sweet, flowery scent, but it's the scent of the Capitol, not of home.

"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here," I respond. But then I look directly at her. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says. Her face is smooth, placid. She's calm.

"Thinking about your family?" I ask. She's never this passive unless she's thinking of her sister, as far as I know. But she shakes her head.

"No. All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course," she replies. Her eyes flit up my body to meet mine. "I really am sorry about your hands." I almost laugh. This is what she's worried about at this moment?

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I say, earnestly. "I've never been a contender in these Games, anyway." It's as close to the truth as I dare get with her.

"That's no way to be thinking,"

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is not to disgrace myself and-" I pause, unsure of how to go about saying what I am thinking at this moment.

"And what?" Katniss prompts.

"I don't know how to say it, exactly. Only, I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I ask. Katniss shakes her head. I run my hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to tell her everything without proclaiming my love over and over and telling her that dying as myself means dying for her. "I don't want to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster I'm not." _I don't want to forget that my only desire is to get you out of there alive_.

Katniss still looks vaguely confused.

"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" she asks.

"No," I say. "When the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to… to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

"But you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work," Katniss says. I want to groan in frustration.

"Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me. Don't you see?" I say, urging her to understand.

"A little. Only, no offense, but who cares, Peeta?" she asks.

"I do!" I respond angrily. "I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I want an answer from her. I want to hear what she thinks I really care about.

"Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive," she says. I'm both saddened and frustrated by her response.

"Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart," I say, mocking Haymitch. I meant it as a joke, but it came out harshly and Katniss looks immediately offended. I'm to frustrated to correct the mistake.

"Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve," she responds, sounding annoyed. This comment rubs me the wrong way. She has pinpointed _exactly_ what I want, but she is making it sound like the idea is absurd, even stupid.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do. Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?" I seethe.

"Count on it," she snaps, and stomps off the roof. I sigh.

I shouldn't be so upset with Katniss; she is only trying to think about getting home alive, and with my talk of nobility and staying true to myself, I must sound nearly insane to her. I just wish that she understood that when I say these things, it all has to do with her.

If only I had the courage to really tell her. But I know that here, in this place, waiting to die, would just never be right. When I had thought about her and me together, it always involved District Twelve. To include the Capitol would be somehow betraying every thought I had ever had since I was five, and would involve a place that I know she loathes. She wouldn't understand.

I lose myself in my thoughts again until I finally force myself to stand and make my way to my room. I figure I should at least try for a few hours of sleep, if possible. It's a fitful night, as I seem to have trouble even keeping my eyes closed. But somehow, I do manage to drift off, for the next time I open my eyes, Portia is standing over my bed, and I know it must be time.

We don't go to breakfast or to meet up with Katniss and Cinna. Instead, Portia puts me in a simple tunic and pants and brings me to the roof where I had spent the majority of my night. I board the Capitol hovercraft that drops out of the sky above me and allow them to insert a tracker into my arm without uttering so much as a word. I'm not sure I could, even if I had anything to say. Within the next hour, the hovercraft has landed again on solid ground and Portia escorts me underground to the Launch Room that lies beneath the arena. This has all transpired so fast, I haven't even had a moment to stop and think about what is happening.

The moment we ender the Launch Room, however, the panic starts to set in. As my breath starts to quicken, Portia places a reassuring hand around my shoulder and guides me to a table laden with breakfast. As much as I know I should, I find it almost impossible to gorge myself on the extravagant meal in front of me, though I do manage to get enough food down to fill me up and I start focusing on drinking water, unsure when I will see it again. As I eat, Portia inspects the outfit they have given us from the arena and explains what the outfit likely means.

"The jacket will retain some heat, as well as resist water. The boots are sturdy. The shirt is light. The pants are somewhere in between. It's a pretty middle-of-the-road outfit. I'd say the weather will probably be rather temperate," she explains. I nod along, barely hearing her. After she pulls me into my clothes, she puts her hands on my shoulders and forces my eyes to meet hers.

"Thanks for everything, Portia," I tell her. She smiles sadly at me.

"I don't know why you keep thanking me. I'm just doing my job. I should be thanking you," she tells me.

"Thanking me?" I ask, uncomprehending.

"For letting me get to know one of the truly good people in this world," she tells me, her eyes filling with tears. "I wish you would reconsider-"

"I won't," I cut her off, not wanting to hear the rest of her argument. A single tear falls down her smooth, pale cheek.

"See? This is what I mean," she says, cupping her hand to my cheek. "Just do everything you need to do." I nod.

"I will," I say, resolutely.

"But, Peeta-" she hesitates, as if unsure whether to continue. "If the worst _does_ happen, promise you won't give up. You deserve to have a life, too." I simply nod, unwilling to think about that possibility unless it is staring me directly in the face.

I move to stand on the metal plate that will lift me into the arena. Portia kisses me on the cheek and beams proudly at me – the look a mother should give her child, but mine has never given me. Just as the cylinder begins to descend around me, I hear Portia's last words.

"Stay you. Good luck."

With this, the glass clicks shut and the metal plate rises skyward.

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**A/N: Wooo that was a LONG chapter! But now we're in the Games! I'm really excited to write the next few chapters. Give me comments and reviews and I promise to get to them faster! (Really, they help me immensely so I'm not kidding, leave me reviews.)**

**Figured you should all know - I'm leaving the country for a few weeks soon and may be in and out of internet contact. But I'm going to work in between so that hopefully, when I DO have internet, I can post a few chapters at a time.**

**I also may start in on some other stories I have in my head and work on them simultaneously. I'm thinking maybe one of my post-Mockingjay story ideas? What do you all think? Or should I maybe work on something from another story entirely?**


	14. Chapter 11, Part 1

**A/N: Hello everyone and Merry Christmas from Phuket! I know I said I might not be able to post more during the holidays, but I got this part done and had internet so I just had to... Sorry it's only the first half of the chapter!**

**Please review, etc. etc. It really does help me write! Might even track down wifi in Cambodia next week if you all make me really excited about posting more :)**

**Hope you're all having wonderful holidays. Enjoy!**

* * *

The sunlight blinds me for a moment as the metal plate on which I am standing screeches to a halt. I blink rapidly to clear my vision, straining to take in the landscape around me. Slowly, my world starts to blur green until the thick, vast forest of the arena finally comes into focus. Off to the right, in the distance, I see a sparkling body of water - a lake, probably. To the left of that, the open field on which the Cornucopia stands drops off into nothing, and strain as I might, I cannot see what reaches beyond.

Katniss will head directly for the woods; I know that much. She'll have an advantage there, having become so accustomed to the woods outside the fence of District 12. But I won't possess the same advantage, so I need to come up with a plan for myself. My first instinct is to run towards the lake, to get water, before going off to find Katniss. But something tells me that could be suicide. The Careers might head there instantly. As I scan around, trying to decide what my first course of action should be, I finally spot Katniss, her intense gaze fixed on a point on the ground between herself and the Cornucopia.

I follow her gaze and find that it has locked upon a gleaming silver bow and sheath of arrows, placed on top of a stack of blankets a little more than thirty yards from where I stand. It is still a good distance from the mouth of the Cornucopia, making it very tempting to snatch up, and I realize Katniss must be planning on doing just that.

My purpose in the arena suddenly becomes crystal clear. Katniss may be quick and able to reach the bow before me, but she said it herself - I have a far better chance at surviving when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. If she runs in for the bow and gets cornered by anyone, she will be dead. I, on the other hand, have a good chance of fighting almost anyone off. I don't stand a chance against the Careers, of course, but they will be headed straight for the mouth of the Cornucopia, where the finest weapons, food, and shelter that the Capitol has to offer will be plentiful. The bow is, I think, far enough away from the mouth that I could snatch it without catching their attention. Then I can deliver it to Katniss, and the Games would be all but over once she has possession of that weapon. Haymitch would kill me for even thinking about it, but he isn't here, and this is the best way I can think of to help Katniss.

My eyes fix on her, willing her to decide against sprinting for the bow as the seconds before the gong sounds to signal the start of the Games whittle down. Finally, as the clock reaches 8, her eyes lift from the field to meet mine. I start shaking my head, trying to wordlessly tell her to get out of here, find a tree, and wait for me there. Her face registers a brief moment of confusion before the gong sounds and I react as fast as I can, hopping off the plate and running for the pile, losing sight of Katniss completely.

The moment I reach the pile on which the bow is resting, I begin to scramble up them. It is unsteady, however, and I topple off before obtaining the gleaming weapon. I scramble to my feet as quickly as possible, and see one of the other male tributes - from District 5, 6, or 7, though I can't remember which one - start trying to leap up the mound. I reach my hands and grasp one of his legs, pulling him to the ground as I use his momentum to launch myself forward. Even as I begin to climb, I feel another presence at my feet, though I don't bother to look at who it might be and simply hope that he or she isn't armed. Finally, after a few long moments of pulling myself upward, my fingers find the sheath of arrows and close around it, quickly slinging the strap over my shoulder, quickly followed by the bow. Just as I grasp the metal, I feel fingers close around my ankle and try to pull, but they are weak, and I pull away easily and leap to the ground, ready to take off. In front of me I find a boy and a girl, both from District 6, I think, looking both confused and frightened as they eye the bow cautiously, wondering whether I will shoot.

"Get out of here," I hiss at them. I wonder why they would have bothered to come into the Cornucopia at all, neither of them has much chance of fighting their way out. Neither do I, for that matter, if I don't start moving soon, and I don't want to kill these two in front of me. It seems so unfair; they're both so small and helpless. The girl nods gratefully and begins to turn away from me before letting out a shriek as a spear emerges from between the boy's ribcage and he collapses to the ground. Her scream is cut short, though, as a knife finds her neck and she quickly goes down, too. As she falls, I see the figures of Cato and Clove - the District 2 tributes - bowling towards me, both with malevolent grins on their faces. As Clove pulls another knife from her jacket - which I see is now lined with them - and begins to take aim, my mind races to find a way out of this. Only one solution presents itself, though I may be dead either way, so I take a chance. I drop the bow and sheath on the ground and throw my hands up in a sign of surrender.

"Wait!" I shout, waving my arms. "Hold on, don't throw." Clove pauses and glances over at Cato, who smirks at me.

"Why shouldn't she kill you now, Lover Boy?" he jeers. I pause, trying to come up with a reason. There is only one that I can think of.

"Because I can take you to her," I say, pointedly, knowing he'll understand what I mean. Again, I imagine how furious he must have been to see that Katniss beat him in training, and I know that he is going to want her dead as soon as possible to turn the attention back to him. He pauses in his approach, now just two yards from me, and considers me carefully.

"And why would you do that?" Clove asks. She's still clutching her knife, but seems to also be considering me. Again, I'm forced to pause and stumble over my words as I think of something.

"Be-because I... I," I begin, and instantly know this isn't going well. With my stuttering, both Cato and Clove have instantly recovered their murderous looks and are again stalking towards me. Before they can do anything, however, something Haymitch had said echoes in my mind. "Because I changed my mind. I want to live." I hang my head, acting as if I feel slightly guilty having to admit it. Clove sneers and begins to ready her knife again, but Cato holds up a hand, staying her.

"So you're coming to us?" he laughs. "Explain that. We'll just kill you in the end." I shake my head, adopting a confident air.

"I'm not going to be that easy to kill, Cato. I figure I stand a better chance against you than her, anyway. She did beat you after all," I prod, and immediately know that this was the wrong move as Cato's face darkens. I backtrack. "And you want her dead badly, now. Well you're going to have a much easier time finding her and killing her with me around." Cato looks thoughtful again, but is quickly distracted by the noise of a commotion. I glance about ten yards to my right, near the mouth of the Cornucopia, just in time to see the boy from District 5 get stabbed by the boy from 4, before he immediately takes an axe in the back from the boy from District 7. The girl from 4 screams in frustration and buries a sword in the boy from 7's chest, and he immediately falls. She then turns and rushes to the boy from her own district, checking his wound and pulse. She looks up from his body and meets Cato's eye, who turned at her scream to watch the proceedings. Breathing deeply, she shakes her head, indicating that the boy from 4 is dead. Cato laughs.

"Looks like you're in luck, Lover Boy. A position just opened up for you!" he jeers before stalking away. Clove allows her murderous gaze to hold me for a moment longer, before turning to follow him. I let out a long but quiet sigh of relief, blinking to get the haze of bloody murders out of the forefront of my mind. This day has not gone as planned, but at least I am safe. Now I just need to come up with a plan for what to do about Katniss.

It's not difficult to find time to think, as I quickly just busy myself with the task of gathering the goods strewn about and consolidating them into one pile, while the five remaining Careers run about, whooping as they take out the few remaining stragglers around the Cornucopia and staking their claim to this land. I taste bile at their joy, but swallow it quickly and try to keep my mind focused.

The girl from District 1, who introduced herself to me as Glimmer, quickly took the bow and arrows from me after Cato explained our alliance to the rest of the Careers. I glowered after her as she stalked off with the shining weapon. But Clove spotted my sour stare and slipped a knife from the inside of her jacket, grinning maliciously at me, making her meaning very clear - step one toe out of line, and I'm dead. From that moment on, I keep my mouth shut.

As I busy myself with moving the goods from the Cornucopia, except for those that the girls took in order to set up a makeshift camp, I'm surprised to find the boy from District 3 moving about as well, inspecting the metal platforms that brought us into the arena and muttering to himself. Finally, he approaches me cautiously.

"Hi, I'm Buzz," he says, helping me to steady a heavy pot full of various foods on the pile. I grunt in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry if this is a lot of trouble, but could we possibly move this pile over there?" He points to a spot about thirty to forty yards from where I am now. "I want to keep it a little further away from camp, and Cato told me to move this rather than the camp." He responds to my unasked question. I grimace; Cato is the unquestioned king amongst the Careers.

I spend the next hour moving the pile to where Buzz wants it, while he hands the boy from District 1 - Marvel - a shovel and asks him to help dig up the mines surrounding the metal platforms. Marvel shoots a contemptuous glance at Cato, who has taken to hurling spears at a nearby tree, before obliging. I snort to myself as I realize that Cato could win these Games simply by making his strongest opponents - those at the Career camp - too exhausted to fight back. Except for Katniss, over whom he holds no control. I suddenly realize why he must be so desperate to find her. He needs his unquestioned control in these Games.

Finally, when the pile has been moved, the mines dug up, and a camp established, we move ourselves away from the mangled and bloody bodies strewn around the a Cornucopia, and allow the Capitol hovercrafts to move in. As they descend upon the scattered bodies and the cannons begin to fire, each indicating a tribute death. I look skyward, counting off the shots. Buzz, Clove, and Marvel seem to have taken interest in the cannons as well. Glimmer starts taking aim at nearby trees, practicing her archery. Cato, alone, seems completely indifferent to the sound, as he continues picking through the pile of gleaming Capitol weapons that we have been provided.

Eleven. Eleven cannons fire into the sky as the hovercraft collecting the bodies from the Cornucopia finishes its duty and disappears into the sky again. Despite my confidence that she is okay, I can't help but be anxious that one of them may have been for Katniss. After silence falls again, it is a few moments before anyone speaks. To my surprise, it is Cato who speaks first.

"Was that the right number?" he demands. Marvel nods.

"I counted eleven bodies at the Cornucopia. Everyone else escaped somewhere," he tells Cato, who proceeds to pick up a large, terrifying sword. I try hard to disguise my relief at the confirmation that Katniss is alive.

"Well, that's that," he says, before turning his hard gaze on me. "Ready to hunt soon, Lover Boy?" He smirks as he utters the nickname he gave me, which makes Clove and Glimmer giggle.

"I..." I stammer. "Ready to... What? When?" I suppose the idea of hunting shouldn't shock me, but for some reason I hadn't considered what I would do when it actually came to hunting, knowing that they would be looking fervently for Katniss.

"Hunting," Clove enunciated, sarcastically. "Don't tell me you've lost your nerve. You can always tell us you don't want to help." She holds up her knife as she says this. I quickly regain my composure.

"Not good with the veiled threats are you?" I joke, which actually coaxes laughter from most of the camp. "Sorry, I just figured we would wait until first light tomorrow to head out."

"No, we hunt at night," Cato snaps. "Tributes will be asleep, unguarded. They'll be dumb and light fires. Now the question is where did she run off to?" He seems unwilling to acknowledge that she is a person, or anything more than an obstacle to be tackled. I open my mouth, thinking to mislead them, but am cut off.

"I saw her running off into the trees, after she managed to block my throw," Clove says.

"Losing your touch," Marvel mocks. Clove narrows her eyes.

"Trust me, it won't happen again," she seethes. I don't question this; if she encounters Katniss again, there is very little chance Katniss will win without the bow. My job now is to make sure she gets that weapon, I just have to figure out how.

"Enough," I interrupt them, clearly surprising a few of the Careers. "Yes, she will be in the forest, who knows what is over that drop. Clove, you'll have to show us what direction she went in. I know how to find her after that." Most of the Careers look to Cato, defecting to their clear leader. Cato nods, his gaze never straying from my face, though he seems less on edge when he looks at me. It seems this last statement has helped me gain his trust.

"Do what he says," he commands, and then starts barking orders to prepare for our departure. "Finish setting up the tents and get working on dinner, everyone make sure you have whatever weapons you want, Buzz - get to work on those mines, I want then up and running when we get back, the rest of you, look through the pile for anything especially useful that we might want to carry. We'll leave after the seal and tributes' pictures go up." Once he has finished, he proceeds to start burying his sword in the side of a nearby pine, leaving deep marks with each blow.

Buzz suddenly appears behind me and presses a knife into my hands while everyone else is distracted.

"Here, take this," he murmurs. "You know, just in case." I stiffen as I realize that he knows that I am not entirely on the Careers' side, but just as quickly realize that he wants them dead nearly as much as I do; he is only trying to save his skin. I'm briefly comforted by the idea that someone at this camp might have my back, even if it is only a 13 year-old from District 3. But that thought is darkened by the realization that, if Katniss is to live, even he has to die.


	15. Chapter 11, Part 2

I pointedly ignore the sky as the Capitol seal appears, the anthem blasting through the arena as a distinct reminder of who is controlling the game we play. I don't want to see the display of the faces of the kids I saw die only a few hours ago, put on every evening as if we needed to be reminded. I'm still numb to the blood and death that I witnessed, but I'm dreading the moment that reality sets in. For the time being, I'm grateful that I have tonight to focus my mind on, and what I can do to divert the Careers from Katniss until I am ready to seize the bow and put it in her hands. The moment the seal has disappeared from the sky, Cato is on his feet, barking orders.

"Clove, Marvel, Glimmer, Dara, on your feet and let's go. Get your packs. Buzz grab a spear and stay here, and if those mines aren't ready by the time we're back, I swear I'll stuff one down your throat," he commands, before turning on his heels and stalking off towards the woods. Buzz grimaces and nods at me once, before I turn and follow the rest of the Career group. I fall in step behind Glimmer and the girl from District 4 - Dara - and keep my eyes on the ground, focusing on the crunch of my feet as they fall on the layer of pine that covers the forest floor and the sounds of the forest around us. I hear owls hooting in the trees, and all manner of creatures scampering away from us, though I'm not sure what animals might surround us. I'm sure Katniss will know what half of the creatures are, though. With what I know about her hunting back in District 12, the Gamemakers are practically handing her the means to stay alive. The only thing she can't help is the presence of the other tributes.

I've just started to allow my brain to think of possible plans, when Cato brings the group to a halt and looks directly at me. Right on cue. Almost as if he was reading my mind.

"Alright, Lover Boy. What's your game plan?" he demands. I freeze. It's time to think on my feet. I cast my eyes around, hoping a sufficient answer will materialize. However, Clove, thankfully, seems anxious to keep moving.

"Let's just get deeper into the woods. We're bound to run into a few kids, right?" she snarls. Cato glares at her before turning his gaze back to me.

"Do you think your little girlfriend went that way?" he asks me. I nod, not trusting myself to respond sufficiently. "Great. You take the lead." Cato swats the side of his sword against the back of my legs. I sigh and trudge forward.

Truly, I have no idea where Katniss may have gone. If she felt desperate for water, she may have headed towards the lake. If she wanted to look for her chance to get the bow or other supplies, she may have doubled back to survey they Careers' activity. If she wanted to get away from them, I could be leading them straight in her direction. At the moment, I'm relying on my idea of her hiding out in trees, hidden from view, especially in the night.

"Clove, you said she got away with a pack, right?" I ask, trying to sound good-natured.

"Blocked my knife with the damn thing," she spits. "What's it to you?" I shrug.

"I was just figuring if she has a pack, she might have some sort of shelter. Probably stopped to set it up somewhere," I tell the group.

"So you think she's just got a cozy tent set up somewhere in the woods?" Cato asks, snorting.

"Well, I didn't think you'd be hunting until morning. She probably thinks the same," I retort. Cato seems to consider this for a moment before deciding it's a good enough lead for now and falling silent, though I know he won't be appeased for long. We continue in silence for a while, as we descend downhill into what seems to be a valley.

Our silent journey is disturbed when I hear a loud thud behind me, followed by a commotion. I whip my knife from its hiding place behind my belt and turn, surveying the scene for any danger. What I find, however, is comical. I see Dara pulling herself off the ground, a disgruntled Glimmer beneath her, apparently having wiped out on a layer of leaves that slid out from beneath her. As Glimmer rises to her feet, mumbling something to herself about trees and nature, it occurs to me that - having grown up in the luxury and fine goods district - she has probably never been this close to nature in her life. Even Cato looks mildly amused as he sees the distraught blonde beauty with twigs sticking out of her normally perfectly sculpted hair. I scope the trees around me until I find a relatively straight and sturdy looking branch in a nearby tree and deftly hack it from the tree, remove the leaves and bark from one end, and hand it to Glimmer. She eyes the stick suspiciously.

"It's a walking stick. Might make going downhill easier," I tell her with a shrug. She then takes the stick in her hand and tests her weight against it.

"Real charmer aren't you, Lover Boy?" Clove snaps. "Nevermind that, where'd you get that knife?" She is eyeing the blade in my hand. I shrug again, not wanting to implicate Buzz.

"Found it while I was piling all the stuff together. Guess you missed one, Clove," I joke. Most of the group snorts appreciatively. Clove, however, retains her glare that tells me she would be happy to kill me in and instant if she had the chance, and holds out her hand for the knife. Cato rolls his eyes.

"Let him have it, Clove. You have at least ten on you. And I want to keep going," he barks. Clove recoils, but keeps her gaze intently on me as I turn to continue walking. Glimmer pats me appreciatively on the arm before returning to Dara's side as we continue our trek.

We walk for several more hours with no signs of any tribute. Cato grows increasingly impatient, aiming blows from his sword at tree trunks as we pass by, and Clove's scowl has deepened considerably. I am just about to suggest either setting up a temporary camp or heading back towards our own, when I see something unmistakable curling up into the sky. Smoke, less than half a mile away from where we stand. Moments after I spot it, so do several other members of our group.

"Look!" Marvel exclaims, gesturing up towards the sky. Clove jeers at the signal, everyone else surveys it carefully.

"Could it be her?" Cato asks, again looking at me to answer. Again, I shrug.

"If her pack had matches," I say, simply. However, for everything I am unsure about in Katniss' possible courses of action in the arena, I know one thing - she is far too smart to have lit this fire. While I know we have just condemned someone to death, I feel that I can be confident in the fact that it is not her.

"Let's go then," Clove hisses, before darting forward into the trees. Cato follows close on her heels, with Marvel, Glimmer, Dara and I following in the rear.

As we jog towards the smoke signal, I suddenly notice something out of the corner of my eye, hanging off the branches of a tree. A rabbit, snared by its feet and hanging up in the air, out of reach of possible predators.

My heart almost stops. I watched Katniss practice that exact snare with the instructor in training, and it is far too complicated for anyone else to have mastered. Only she could have set that snare. Suddenly, I am terrified that I have entirely misjudged her and that she was, in fact, the person who lit the fire I am now leading five deadly Career tributes towards. I can almost hear Haymitch yelling expletives at me from wherever he sits now, watching us from the Capitol. But I know that there is nothing I can do but hope that it either isn't her, or that she can get away in time. Thankfully, everyone seems far too focused on our goal to have noticed the snare lurking in the shadows, so I continue to jog forward without comment. Suddenly, we break into a clearing where the fire is flickering, a small girl curled up asleep beside it. I breathe a sigh of relief at the realization that it is not Katniss, and then try to tune out what happens next.

Marvel gives out a triumphant whoop, while the rest of the Careers stalk around the girl, who awakens to the sound. The moment her eyes fly open, she squeals and tries to find an escape, only to find herself blocked in at every side by the leering Careers.

"No, no, please!" she begs, tears streaming down her face. "Don't kill me, please! I'll do whatever you want!" She begins to sob. Cato just looks down at her, apparently bored.

"Should I shut her up?" Clove snarls. Cato says nothing, but quickly drives his sword through the girl's stomach. She screams in agony, her sobs quickly changing into hyperventilation as she panics, and then she goes silent. Cato pulls the sword from her gut and smirks.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" he cheers, hoisting his sword in the air. The rest of the Careers cheer and holler, also thrusting their own weapons into the air. I distinctly try to look anywhere but the gruesome scene before me, swallowing hard so that I do not break into tears. I know that I should be happy that I am one step closer to getting Katniss home, but I can't help but think about how this girl must have had a family and life that she was hoping to get back to as well, and how she never really had a chance.

"Check her for supplies," I hear Glimmer say. Marvel and Dara immediately move into the body, apparently unfazed by it, but come up empty handed.

"Must've just taken off from the Cornucopia," Dara states, shrugging.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato says nonchalantly, before turning and moving away from the clearing without another glance. His calm, almost blasé, reaction to the murder of this girl threatens to make me sick, and I am forced to swallow deeply again. I know I cannot show weakness in front of the Careers, but actions like this are making it difficult. I tuck my head down and follow him into the darkness, wanting to put distance between myself and this scene. We walk about twenty yards from the clearing when Cato suddenly comes to a stop.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" he demands.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," Marvel replies.

"Unless she isn't dead," Clove sneers.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," Cato retorts.

"Then where's the cannon?" Clove presses.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," Dara says.  
"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Glimmer jokes. Cato is growing obviously irritated.

"I said she's dead!" he barks, as if giving a command. Clove and Cato start bickering while Marvel and Dara make futile attempts to break in. However, I start to feel panic as I notice the sky lightening ever so slightly, and I remember the snares we passed on the way to the clearing. If I am correct in my suspicion, Katniss can't be far away from here, which means that by the time the sun comes up, we need to be. Without the cover of darkness, she may lose the advantage that not being on the ground gives her.

"You can't even kill one girl properly. I should just knife you now," I hear Clove snarl.

"Good luck with that. You'll be dead before your hand can twitch," Cato replies harshly. I know I can't wait for this argument to play out - if the Career alliance breaks at all, I'm as good as dead. And Katniss is still here somewhere.

"We're wasting time!" I cut in, exasperated. "I'll go finish her, then let's move on!" I storm away into the trees, back towards where the girl's body lies, unsure of what I'm going to do next.

* * *

**A/N: Don't forget to review/fave/etc.! Should have the next chapter up tomorrow. Almost to the most exciting part of the Games!**


	16. Chapter 12

As I reenter the clearing, I immediately regret my decision to come back here. I don't have the taste for blood that the others do; I will not be able to bring myself to kill this girl. She is awake again, having passed out from shock, eyes wide, hands over the gaping hole in her stomach as the pool of blood around her widens. She can't have more than a few minutes left. I kneel at her side and take one of her hands in mine, trying to ignore the murmurs of the Careers only a short distance away.

"It's going to be okay," I tell her, squeezing her hand in mine. "It's all going to be over soon." Her eyes lift to meet mine for a brief moment, and in them I see fear and anger. Whether the anger is directed at me or just at the situation in which she has found herself, I don't know. I just continue to pat her hand as her eyes flit away from mine and then fall still, her breath catching in her throat for just one moment before ceasing entirely. I gently close her eyes, not wanting to see their unmoving stare anymore, before quickly turning and moving back towards the waiting Careers. Their murmuring stops as I approach, and all of them are fixated on me when I step back to their sides.

"Was she dead?" Cato demands. I shake my head.

"No, but she is now," I say, accompanied by the sound of the cannon as confirmation. I know I'm going to be sick if we remain here any longer, and I can't ignore the rapidly lightening sky. "Ready to move on?" Everyone nods their silent assent and we start jogging quickly away from the scene. After a few minutes, Cato directs us back towards camp.

"It's getting too light. We should get back and make sure Buzz has finished his job," he says. The pack responds by turning and running the rest of the way back to our camp.

* * *

"And when any of us needs supplies, I can deactivate the mines using the wires I ran underground to the camp," Buzz finishes, after his long-winded explanation of the minefield he set up surrounding our stack of supplies. It's an ingenious plan, really - anyone who tries to steal any of our supplies will be blown sky-high, but stepping on the outer mines will not detonate the inner ones, therefore leaving our store untouched. I have to give Clove credit for having thought this one up; I had dismissed the idea of her being clever, but this proved me wrong. The Careers nod along with Buzz's explanation, and begin to disburse once he has finished, but Cato quickly rounds on me.

"Enough of the games, Lover Boy," he says. "Tell us what you know about your little girlfriend. I thought you were going to lead us straight to her last night." His tone is angry, but not demanding. This version of Cato - less arrogant and more frightened of uncertainty - is the scariest one I've seen yet. I'm grateful that the night has given me the time to think.

"Well I obviously don't know exactly where she went. I don't have the map to her tracker or anything," I challenge him. He waivers briefly.

"Fine, then tell us how she got the eleven," he says.

"I don't know exactly, but-" I begin, but Clove cuts me off.

"You don't know much, do you?" she sneers. I hold up a hand.

"Hold on. Do each of you know exactly what the others did? No. The training rooms are secret. Sure, I have ideas of what some of you did," I say, looking pointedly at the knife clutched in Clove's hand. "But I'm not positive." Cato just stares at me impatiently, unwilling to admit I'm right.

"Fine. What do you think she can do?" Cato asks.

"She's a survivor," I say simply. Cato snorts, not satisfied. "Ask anyone in my district - the girl can survive through anything."

"Great," Clove snaps. "What does that mean? What is she doing?"

I pause. This is where I need to be careful. I need to give the Careers a believable story, while not indicating her true talents, in a way that will convince the sponsors that I am duping the Careers to keep her safe, all without outright saying that Katniss has spent years hunting in the woods outside District 12. Her skill with a bow basically gives that away, but saying it outright could have deadly consequences, and cause the Capitol to just kill her on the spot.

"Well, Clove, you made a mistake by giving her that knife," I say. Clove scowls at me but keeps listening wordlessly. "Between that and whatever she's got in that pack, you can bet she's crafting her own weapons and traps to keep herself safe." Most of the Careers look skeptical.

"How would that have gotten her an eleven?" Cato demands. I shrug, acting as if this is not my biggest concern.

"Again, I'm not positive. I'm guessing she used what was available and created new, usable tools with it, to convince them she can survive and figure out how to use whatever weapon or obstacle is thrown her way," I tell them. "You can bet she's spent this morning crafting ways to make the area around her safe from people hunting her." Cato's face darkens.

"And you were just going to let us waltz right up to her last night?" he asks.  
"How many times do I have to tell you - I didn't know you'd be hunting. Neither did she. She wouldn't have had time to do anything," I say exasperatedly, as if I am growing bored by having to explain this. Clove and Cato exchange a silent glance.

"Alright, alright, that's all well and good," Cato replies. "So you've told us what you know and told us all about her. What is keeping us from killing you here and now?" I grin knowingly at him.

"Because, Cato, she'll run or hide from you as fast as she can. She's not afraid of me," I say. "She'll come to me, past the safety of whatever traps she set up in the areas around her." I wait in silence for a moment and wait for everything to sink in.

I think I have set it up perfectly. The audience will know that Katniss isn't out there setting up traps and crafting complicated weapons - at least nothing dangerous to anything bigger than a rabbit - so they know for sure now that I am not betraying her. But I have still hinted at some form of bond between us, keeping the start-crossed lovers alive. Finally, the Careers will at least accept what I have told them about her, because it is so vastly different than anything any of them have seen before or would have guessed; they tend to assume brute force is the only way to conquer, and anything more nuanced is frightening. Not to mention, I've given them a good enough reason to keep me alive for the time being.

The pack seems to agree, as they all begin to murmur assent and disperse. Cato orders Glimmer, Dara and I to take the first watch. We have Buzz deactivate the mines and quickly go to collect some food and other goods. Dara grabs a long coil of rope and immediately begins weaving it together. She sees me watching her toil with curiosity and holds up her work, showing the beginnings of a net.

"We can string it from a tree and it will scoop people up, just like what we use to catch fish back home," she tells me. Then she smirks. "Your girlfriend got my mind going." I grimace.

"Hardly my girlfriend," I comment sullenly. Glimmer glides down next to me, drinking the dregs out of a can of soup.

"Don't beat yourself up, Lover Boy," she tells me. "I have a guy I like back home, and if he had been reaped with me, I wouldn't have chosen his life over mine either, in the end." I hear a guffaw coming from one of the tents.

"Don't tell me you're pining over Flash, that pansy," Marvel teases. Glimmer shoots his tent a contemptuous glance.

"Stop acting like you haven't been pining over Ruby since we turned thirteen!" she retorts. But then she turns to me and laughs. "See? We've all got people. But our lives come first, you know?" I nod, not knowing what else to say. Dara opens her arms wide and looks to the sky.

"It's all part of the Games!" she proclaims. In spite of myself, I let out a laugh. Though even if I wanted to explain to them how I truly feel, I don't think there is any way I could ever make them understand. They all have lives of happiness and plenty, and who wouldn't want to return to that? I've come to the realization that they are victims of circumstance, just as much as I. They live as lapdogs of the Capitol, happily slurping up all the propaganda fed to them about what makes the Games necessary. But who knows? Born under different circumstances, they may have turned out no different than me or Katniss. And though I think I have found a way to hate the Careers a little less, I also have to force myself to come to the realization that this is not worth dwelling on. I need to focus on what is real.

* * *

The next few days pass without incident. We keep watch during the day, and hunt when it grows dark. But, so far, we have found no one and nothing new, and Cato is quickly growing impatient with the progress we have made. When we return to camp on the third morning, he stomps off to bed, ordering Buzz and I to take the first watch, and then muttering something about "should have just killed him" as he slides into his tent. I sigh and shake my head as I go to join Buzz, wondering how much longer I can keep myself safe. The moment I sit down, Buzz leans in towards me slightly, as if inspecting the knife in my hand.

"I have a plan," he tells me. I perk up, interested, but not daring to say anything. "If I re-activate the mines while some of the Careers are at the pile collecting supplies, they will blow themselves up, as well as the supply pile." It's so simple, I'm shocked that no one has been more suspicious of this happening. But I realize why quickly - because we don't all go in for the pile at once, there are always one or two of us still doing something else. Buzz will likely be killed by whoever is left standing at the side.

"What about whoever is left?" I whisper.

"They'll be left with no food, few extra weapons, and most of their pack decimated. They'll probably be in shock, too, so I'll have the chance to run off. It's not perfect, but the rest of us will have a much better chance then," he says. I nod, unsure if he'll really be safe from the wrath of whoever is left, but I don't question it. What he has said strikes a chord; he cannot destroy Glimmer's weapon, because it is the only bow in this arena.

"Okay. But we should make sure Cato and hopefully Clove are both there," I tell him. Then I pause. "Out of all of them, we should spare Glimmer. She'll be the easiest to take down. Plus, she doesn't seem so evil." Buzz just snorts.

"Well, I'll try. But I want to take out Cato and Clove most of all," he tells me. This, I realize, is a warning to me - that I need to stay away, in case Buzz sees his chance. I can't help but nod. He's right, even if it means the bow being destroyed, the two from District 2 need to go. But we don't get the chance to discuss it more, as at that moment Marvel comes up behind me and tells me to get some rest, so I head back to my tent to get some sleep.

* * *

We wake late that evening, so Cato hurries us out of camp as we chew the remainders of our food from breakfast. He is eager to start the night's hunt.  
"And we better have some luck tonight," he snarls as we march out of camp. We wander the woods for a few hours without incident, with the exception of Cato's increasingly irritated commands. Suddenly, however, Dara spots something in the sky.

"It looks like a tribute's fire got out of control," she tells us, pointing to the large stack of smoke curling into the air, the bottom of it reflecting the light from the fire from which it stems. "It'll burn a few trees, but it won't spread quickly. And whoever it was will be running right at us." Cato grins.

"Let's give them a warm welcome," he jeers, and takes off in the direction of the flames. We all run after him for several minutes before it becomes clear that something is amiss. Rabbits and other animals scamper towards us, through our feet, and then back in the direction that we came from. As we slow to observe their behavior, I realize that the heat I am feeling is not from physical exertion, but that the air has actually become hotter and heavier. I look up again, thinking to warn the rest of the group about what I have noticed. Instead I freeze.

The flames, which had previously been about a mile away from where we stood, and now racing towards us and have started engulfing trees less than one hundred yards away. As we turn to sprint back towards the camp, we realize that another line of fire has snaked its way around us and begun to consume the trees in either direction.

My first thought is that Buzz may have no need of his deadly trap, after all. My second thought is of Katniss. Finally, all I feel is fear.

We're trapped.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you guys enjoy! Parts of this chapter were really tough, but I'm excited to get to the next two!**

**Also I just realized that because I'm traveling and am posting from a tablet, not my computer, some of the formatting might be a little weird - I promise to fix it when I get home.**

**As always, reviews much appreciated!**


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